In Terms of a Name
by Taliya
Summary: -Undergoing Revision- Indicted, imprisoned, kidnapped, and Kissed, Harry manages to survive and gain powerful allies. Now, he bides his time for the perfect chance to strike. AU after OotP. Dark, powerful, independent, Dementor Harry.
1. Prologue

Harry Potter characters do not belong to me but to J.K. Rowling.

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In Terms of a Name

By Taliya

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Prologue

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Privet Drive was silent and dark; the street lamps had long since been extinguished with a small silver Putter-Outer to avoid Ministry intervention about magic use in the area. The Order of the Phoenix member Elphias Doge, current guard of Privet Drive had been roped, gagged, and clubbed to death. Wards were then placed to both ensure magic would not be detected by the magical government and disable the wards protecting their target. The plan was to ambush the summer abode of the entering-Sixth Year "Boy-Who-Lived", Harry Potter. The black-clad group of seven cautiously approached a rather boringly normal home, Number Four, Privet Drive. The lights within the house were off. A muttered, "_Alohomora_," unlocked the front door.

Their orders were simple: kill the boy and his relatives. After this first task was accomplished, they were allowed free reign to torture, maim, and kill as many Muggles as they liked in Little Whinging, so long as _Morsmordre_ was cast into the sky directly above that dratted Potter's future ex-home when they were finished.

Upon entering they eyed the neat foyer that led to the living room and kitchen. With a swift hand gesture, the leader motioned for them to go up the somewhat-creaking stairs to where the bedrooms were located. Once up the stairs, they separated into groups of twos and a three and headed for the sleeping quarters of the house's inhabitants. Quietly opened doors hissed, "_Avada Kadavra!_" and were briefly illuminated with brilliant green light. The Dursleys were no more. The last door at the end of the hall, they now knew, housed the Boy-Who-Refused-To-Die.

Malicious grins were etched identically onto each of their faces beneath their skeletal white masks. They gathered before the only door in the house with a combination lock on the doorknob. Another whispered, "_Alohomora_," and the lock was quietly plucked off.

---

There was a feeling of _wrongness_ in the air that had disturbed him from his fitful sleep. He blinked the sleep from his eyes and reached for his glasses and wand on his nightstand. Although his trunk and all other magic-related possessions were locked in the cupboard beneath the stairs, he had kept his wand on his person. He was never so glad of that decision as he was now. The street lamps were off—as opposed to usually filtering into his room through the window. His snowy owl softly hooted her discomfort and flew to her owner, landing on the bed beside a discarded _The Complete Works of William Shakespeare_.

A series of creaks indicated that a number of people were coming up the stairs. Tensing, he quietly told his owl to leave for the safety that Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry provided. The owl's intelligent tawny eyes locked with his, and an unspoken wish to be safe was passed between them. Opening his window, he watched as his familiar disappeared into the night.

He turned sharply and crouched near the window as his doorknob jingled, signaling the removal of the lock. His door slid slightly open. A wand pointed through the small opening and Harry shielded his eyes as a small hiss sounded right before a bright viridian light exploded from his bed. The door fully opened to reveal a full hallway of Death Eaters.

"Did you get him?" one of them asked.

"I did not miss," replied another. They converged on the scorched bed, only to discover the object of their task missing. "Where the bloody hell is Potter?" roared their leader. They glanced around the room, only to spy their assignment escaping out the window.

"After him! Amycus, Alecto, Rosier, you three follow him out the window! The rest of you, downstairs! Surround the little runt so that he can't escape us!" snarled the leader.

---

He panted as he slid down the roofing directly beneath his window, dodging curses along the way. Twisting, he flipped onto his stomach as his feet reached the edge of the roof. He fell, fingers catching the edge of the roof before dropping down the rest of the way to the ground. Shouts coming from the front of the former Dursley residence spurred him to sprint down the street in the opposite direction.

He really had no idea where he was heading; living with the Dursleys had not allowed him the pleasure of becoming familiar with his own neighborhood. He could hear the hammering of feet against pavement behind him over the pounding of his heart and the roaring of his blood in his ears. Hexes and curses sailed past him; he had only used his wand to erect a protection charm.

_Where is Dumbledore? Where is the Order?_ His mind generated a multitude of scenarios that could have kept the Order busy as he continued to outpace the Dark Lord's servants. He knew he couldn't continue to run; his energy was being severely sapped. Reaching a dead end, he whirled, wand at the ready to take down the nine Death Eaters.

The Death Eaters chuckled at their cornered prey. One of them stepped forwards. "Scared, boy?" he sneered.

His stance was proud as and his voice did not belie the fear he felt as he spoke, "No, I'm not afraid of the bunch of cowards that stand before me. Besides," he added, smirking, "''Tis such fools as you that makes the world full of ill-favour'd children.'" He chuckled a little, as if enjoying a private joke. "Shakespeare," he added with a flourish and a small bow.

Each Death Eater was quivering with rage. Their commander snarled through gritted teeth, "Get. Him." At once a barrage of spells, curses, and hexes came at him.

His most powerful shield was placed before him, and he avoided the curses that managed to break through. Most of these were Unforgivables. Running sideways, he fired his own jinxes and spells, disabling a few of the robed figures temporarily. He evaded more spells as he fled, turning sharply to hide behind a parked Mini-Cooper. Adrenaline sang in his veins, causing him to be painfully aware of his surroundings.

The panting breaths of the Death Eaters reached him. "Come out, come out, wherever you are," a woman's voice mockingly sang.

His hands curled tightly around his wand. _Bellatrix Lestrange, _he thought with a low growl. Peeking over the car's hood for a second, he fired a spell. "_Reducto!_" A strangled cry indicated that his aim had not failed. More curses sailed over his head as he ducked. Aiming from underneath the car, he cast several more curses in this manner. "_Furnunculus! Incarcerous! Petrificus Totalus! Incendio! Stupefy! Rictusempra!_"

He cursed as an "_Evanesco!_" caused the Mini-Cooper to vanish. He began to run again, only to stop short as several Death Eaters apperated in front of him. He was effectively trapped.

As he looked around, most of the Death Eaters looked worse for the wear. He grinned slightly, proud of himself. The grin was wiped away with a severe expression. _If I go down, I'm taking a few of you flobberworm gits with me,_ he thought grimly.

"_Crucio!_" The curse slammed into his back, causing him to arch in pain before crumpling into a ball, writhing on the street. He grit his teeth—he would not give them the satisfaction of screaming.

After what felt like an eternity the pain released him, and he lay helplessly on the concrete, his mind reeling and his body aching with the phantom aftereffects of the Cruciatus Curse. After a nod from their leader, a Death Eater stepped forwards. "Ah, Harry bloody Potter, you have been such a thorn in the side of our Lord. Tonight, he shall celebrate your demise."

Harry curled his hands into fists. Miraculously, he had managed to keep his wand in his possession. _I _won't_ die this way, _he mentally snarled, _I _REFUSE_ to die without taking Voldemort with me!_ He struggled to stand, a dangerous scowl etched firmly on his face._ Besides, I promised to myself and Sirius that I'd do what I could to live my life to the fullest._ Unbeknownst to him, he had begun to glow a vibrant green not unlike the Killing Curse that palpably pulsed with the anger and determination he felt.

The Death Eaters fell back a little, curious and more than a little afraid of this new development. The leader shook himself and bellowed, "Kill him! Kill him!"

A surge of green light erupted from the Death Eaters' wands as the words, "_Avada Kadavra!_" were cried, all of which were aimed at the teen. The curses seemed to slow before they were engulfed in Harry's ever-strengthening magical aura.

The leader and another Death Eater cursed furiously under their breath as they backed away. With the image of the magically charged boy in their minds, they apperated to relative safety. Both knew they were going to be harshly punished by their Lord for their failure.

Harry's eyes glowed a bright green as he snarled at Voldemort's remaining faithful, his rage completely overriding his logic. With an explosion of his magic, the green aura surged outward, killing the Death Eaters on contact. Yet it did not stop there. The magic rushed onwards, plowing though the houses of Privet Drive and beyond.

The sight of the dead bodies of the Death Eaters jolted Harry out of his single-minded fury. Replaying what happened in his mind, his eyes widened in horror as dread snaked its way to settle in his stomach. He felt quite faint.

_I think I've killed everyone within a mile radius_, he thought dimly as the staggering realization hit, "Oh _bugger…_"

And with that revelation, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, blacked out.

---

So here's to my first Harry Potter fanfic. I hoped you enjoyed it and please, review. Updates will be slow, as I have school and work to deal with. And also, do you know what play the Shakespeare quote is from?

-Tal.

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Completed: 5.29.2006

Edited: 7.6.2006

Re-edited: 9.23.2008

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	2. Chapter I: The Trial of the Century

Harry Potter characters do not belong to me but to J.K. Rowling.

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In Terms of a Name

By Taliya

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Chapter I: The Trial of the Century

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_I think I've killed everyone within a half-mile radius_, he thought dimly as the staggering realization hit, "Oh _bugger…_"

And with that revelation, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, blacked out.

---

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, had been working late into the night, preparing the school and its staff for the start of a new term. Rather than dress in the various brightly-colored robes that he would don during the course of the school year, on this night the Headmaster opted for a comfortable navy pajama set with winking yellow shooting stars zooming every which-way. A matching night cap perched atop his age-bleached hair.

He was jotting down some notes for his upcoming meeting with Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge when a magical wave unlike anything he had ever experienced swept through his office. A large percentage of the little silver instruments he had scattered throughout his office either went off with ear-splitting noises or exploded.

The Headmaster reflexively conjured a shield, blinking in consternation as the broken silver pieces showered his office. A sweep of his wand silenced the still-activated gadgets.

His phoenix familiar, Fawkes, squawked indignantly and fluttered his wings to clear the silver bits off of his feathers. He resettled himself on his perch, looking at Dumbledore as if to say, _You are the omniscient resident Wizard "Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Defeater of the Dark Wizard Grindelwald, and current Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry". So what just happened?_

Albus glowered at his impertinent familiar. "You _do_ realize that you were broadcasting, don't you, Fawkes?"

Fawkes trilled in assent. _Of course I knew, Albus._

Dumbledore sighed and rearranged his thoughts. _That magic—it was familiar. If I didn't know better I would have thought it was—_

The fire in the fireplace flared an emerald green. Turning towards, it, the Headmaster gazed into the troubled countenance of Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"Ah, my dear friend Kingsley, what brings you to firecall me in the middle of the night?" he asked amiably, leaning back in his chair comfortably while completely disregarding the mess of broken silver pieces all over his office and the fact that he was in his pajamas.

"We felt a massive magical disturbance in Little Whinging that knocked out the Muggle power system in the area. It also set off quite a few alarms here, not to mention knocked out all sorts of magic. It's pitch black at the Ministry, save for the fireplaces. The Minister is completely frazzled." Kingsley grinned at that, but sobered up quickly. "He's getting ready to deploy Aurors—Tonks, Dawlish, Williamson, and myself as a scouting group. I think he intends to deploy about half of the Auror force and an Unspeakable after we give the Ministry the signal."

Albus straightened. "How long will it take you to get there?"

Kingsley shrugged. "I'd estimate a few minutes."

"Thank you, Kingsley," Albus said, nodding appreciatively.

The fire returned to its normal orange color. Albus pondered for a little while, then turned to his trusty phoenix. "Fawkes, my dear friend, would you be so kind as to send Minerva, Severus, and Alastor a summons?"

The phoenix shot Albus a mock glare. _I'm not some common _owl_, you know!_ However, with a burst of flames, Fawkes was gone.

---

Kingsley Shacklebolt, Nymphadora Tonks, and two other Aurors, with the Minister's permission, apparated to Little Whinging under the light of the green _Morsmordre_. More specifically, in front of Number Four Privet Drive.

"Great Maker above!" Dawlish choked, "That's one _hell_ of a magical residue!"

Indeed the residue was such that it had made apparition extremely difficult—all four Aurors were swaying unsteadily in the magical aftermath from apparition. Any magic performed now would in all likelihood go haywire.

Wands at the ready—just in case—they surrounded the house in a stealthy manner. All looked suspiciously at the open front door. Shacklebolt, the designated leader, signaled for his teammates to move in. They followed him through the door.

The foyer was clean and organized. "Spread out. Find Potter first. Then search for his relatives," he uttered softly. The other Aurors nodded and went their separate ways in the household. Shacklebolt, along with Tonks, took to the stairs to inspect the bedrooms.

Together they checked each room, coming across the late Dursleys in their respective bedrooms. At last approaching the last bedroom, they peeked in only to find no Harry Potter. The bed was charred, most likely from use of the Killing Curse. An owl cage near the scorched open window was empty; other than that the room was cluttered in worn and broken objects with no apparent organization.

Both Aurors glanced at each other, eyes asking, _Where is Potter?_ They crept towards the window and peered past the sill into the dark. Tonks muttered, "_Lumos_." Her wand tip fizzled and popped, then slowly lit unsteadily. Both she and Kingsley were able to find broken roof shingles. Burns on the shingles indicated that curses had been thrown here as well.

"I'll go down there and see if I can find a lead. Get the others outside to meet me, understood?" Kingsley prepared to slide out the window.

"I'm on it," Tonks replied solemnly. She watched as Kingsley disappeared out the window before turning to seek out her colleagues.

---

"What the Merlin's name?" swore Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody. He clumped about unsteadily, reeling from the sheer difficulty of apparating to his current location. His companions were in similar states of disbelief. Moody shook himself and addressed his group, his magical eye whizzing in sickening circles. "A Death Eater attack here, if that blasted skull and snake is any indication," he growled, waving a hand nonchalantly at the glowing symbol of the Dark Lord. Scowling at one of his companions, he barked, "Why didn't you know about this, Snape?"

"I wasn't informed," snapped back Hogwarts Potions Professor and ex-Death Eater-turned-spy, Severus Snape.

_It's quiet._ Each Order member abruptly noted this. _Too quiet._ Uneasily, they scanned their surroundings. The area was illuminated with eerie green light cast from the Dark Mark. Immediately they all perceived that something about their surroundings was amiss.

"_Merlin_," the Hogwarts Potions Master murmured once he realized what was wrong. "Everything is _dead_."

And indeed, everything _was_ dead. There was no sound—not even the distant roar of the Muggle dual carriageways. The grass of each house's lawn was withered and brown. The trees were bare, their branches clawing into the sky. The leaves were scattered about on the grass, browned and rigid. In the green gloom the newly-arrived group was intercepted by the Ministry-sent Aurors. Each group pointed their wands at each other before recognition set in.

"Fancy meeting you here," Kingsley said by way of greeting as he lowered his wand. "We found a trail. We're off to see where it leads."

"We should hurry," interjected Dawlish, eyeing the newcomers warily. He was one of the Aurors that blindly followed the Minister of Magic's lead; he therefore had a guardedness reserved for Albus Dumbledore and his company.

"Dawlish, Williamson." Kinglsey turned to look at his fellow Aurors. "See if you can dispel that, rather than letting it fade away on its own," he directed, glancing pointedly at the result of _Morsmordre_. The two Aurors nodded briskly and craned their heads back every now and then as they discussed their options.

Satisfied that the two non-Order Aurors were now occupied, the Order members followed the trail of blackened pockmarks that gouged the pavement surface. They trailed the path for several minutes, noting how at one point there was a standoff of sorts. Dumbledore, with his greater magical prowess, continually analyzed the residual magic used to painstakingly reconstruct Harry's flight and the Death Eaters' pursuit. They at length reached the dead end of a street and froze, taking in with wide, unbelieving eyes the scene laid out before them even as they pointed their wands.

A single crumpled form, one they all recognized as Harry Potter, lay in the centre of a ring of fallen black-clad Death Eaters.

"Harry!" Hogwarts Deputy Headmistress and Transfiguration Professor Minerva McGonagall made to reach the boy, but Albus held her back.

The Headmaster shuddered as the realization hit: this widespread destruction of life was created by none other than that single form in the middle of the circle. Sadness entered his eyes as he gazed at his friends. "Check to see if these Death Eaters are dead first—and be careful; we don't know if they set this up as an ambush for us," he whispered.

They quickly spread out as silently as they could, Mad-Eye's clumping wooden leg the only audible sound of their progress. Stunners were shot at each Death Eater before binding charms were placed on them. The magical residue made the simple task much harder. When all was accomplished, each acknowledged that the Death Eaters they had stunned and bound were dead. They all congregated around the last figure. One question hovered in their minds, and each too afraid to voice it. _Is Harry Potter dead?_

Albus knelt, as did the others, around the prone form. He was so still, spectacles askew and black hair in disarray. "He's breathing," Tonks sighed, relief evident in her voice as she gently touched his cheek, "Very lightly, but he's alive!" Dumbledore carefully conjured a stretched underneath the unconscious wizard and levitated it off the ground.

A multitude of popping noises startled the six of them. Aurors and Unspeakables appeared rather shakily and swarmed around the area, taking into custody the now ex-Death Eaters and spreading out to search the area. Kingsley and Tonks both cursed under their breaths. Obviously Dawlish and Williamson became frustrated with dispelling the skull and snake and had called for the reinforcements.

Head Auror Rufus Scrimgeour appeared and headed straight for the little group huddled protectively around Harry. "So," he started gruffly, "You did all this?" This was directed at Dumbledore. Albus looked at Kingsley to answer.

"No," Shacklebolt reported in a professional manner, "This was already done when we arrived. We merely bound them up."

Scrimgeour frowned. "Then who did?"

Albus opened his mouth to answer but was cut off.

"Auror Scrimgeour!" The Unspeakable was hurrying up to the Head Auror. "I've analyzed the lingering magical traces concerning the disturbance—it was not done by a wand—it was done by either wandless or accidental magic. It caused everything to die within a mile radius. People, birds, plants, everything. Beyond that, there are extensive magical and Muggle power disruptions all over Britain. I also found who did it…" The man was wringing his hands in nervousness, anxiety, and excitement. It wasn't everyday that something of this magnitude happened. A silence fell upon the crowd.

"Well? Who?" snapped Scrimgeour when it was apparent that the Unspeakable was still digesting what had been found out. Albus and his entourage shifted uneasily.

The man took a deep breath and announced for all to hear, "Harry Potter."

It was silent in that little cul-de-sac under the green Dark Mark. Everyone was too shocked.

Rufus cleared his throat to speak, but no sound came from his lips. Clearing his throat again, he whispered, "Harry Potter? _Harry Potter_? Are you _sure_?"

The Unspeakable was bouncing on the balls of his feet now. "Yes, I am positive. The magical signature his most definitely his. I've also found traces of other people as well."

Dumbledore heaved a sigh. The cat was out of the bag a bit sooner than he had hoped. He straightened up and met Rufus Scrimgeour's probing gaze. "As it is clear that he can no longer live here, we—Minerva, Severus, and myself—will be taking him back to Hogwarts to watch over him."

"No, he will not, Dumbledore," Scrimgeour refuted. "This boy has killed more people tonight in one go than He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has in a week. He is a danger to society! He will be charged with manslaughter and placed in Azkaban!"

"You couldn't possibly do that!" gasped McGonagall, "He's the Light Side's hope! Without him, You-Know-Who will win this war for sure!"

Scrimgeour narrowed his eyes and turned to the Unspeakable. "Did he use an Unforgivable Curse? Like _Avada Kedavra_?"

The moment the curse's name came forth, a small uproar from the crowd erupted.

"Harry Potter wouldn't use that!"

"He's on the Side of Light!"

"Harry Potter's not like You-Know-Who!"

"SILENCE!" It quieted immediately. "Thank you," stated Dumbledore. "Rufus, I cannot allow you to accuse Harry with such charges. Surely you can tell that this was accidental magic?"

The Head Auror flushed. "Accidental magic, Dumbledore? _Accidental magic?_ Do you see the damage this boy has caused? It is a two-mile-wide circle of the dead! Tell me, _how_ is this accidental magic if the intent to kill was there?"

"Well," Dumbledore started, "Usually when one is being attacked, wouldn't one try to escape or neutralize the threat? Harry was only reacting on instinct."

Scrimgeour scowled. "Regardless, I have to take him into custody. He will be tried."

A hard glint reflected in Albus Dumbledore's eyes. "He is a Hogwarts student and as such, he is under my protection."

Rufus shot back, "Be as that may, Hogwarts is not in session and therefore he must be detained by the Ministry. Shacklebolt, Tonks, take Potter away."

The two Aurors were hard-pressed not to follow their superior's orders. Glancing at the old Headmaster, he resignedly nodded his consent.

"Albus! You can't possibly let them take him to Fudge!" McGonagall objected.

"Minerva," Moody gruffly explained, "As of now we have no authority whatsoever to keep Potter from being taken to the Ministry."

The Transfiguration professor sighed. "I know. But I just thought…"

"Fear not, Minerva," Tonks quietly assured, "Kingsley and I will keep a sharp eye on him."

McGonagall smiled thinly. "Thank you."

---

He sincerely wished the buzzing in his head would stop, as well as the blasted hammer that was currently battering his brain. The band of coolness that looped over his forehead marginally helped. Still, he groaned and weakly tried to rub his eyes. Except, he couldn't. He was lying flat on something cold, hard, and smooth. Bands of something equally cold and hard were wrapped around his neck, wrists, hips, and ankles—he realized that after he had tried to shift into a more comfortable position. Bleary green eyes opened slowly taking in the fine view of the ceiling. Off to his left somewhere a light dimly illumined his field of vision. A sudden beeping sounded somewhere above his head, shattering the stillness. He hissed as the beeping increased in volume.

The loudness halted as abruptly as it had commenced. A soft hiss could be heard to his left, and soon footsteps could be heard. Shifting his eyes, he watched as Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge, his Undersecretary Percy Weasley, Hogwarts Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, and another man he had never seen before stepped in. The unknown man reminded him of an old lion, with dirty blond hair streaked with gray. He limped, but seemed to make it a graceful movement.

"Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic," the man with the lime green bowler hat said, gesturing to himself proudly. Waving a hand at the others, he stated, "Percival Weasley, my Junior Undersecretary, Albus Dumbledore, and Rufus Scrimgeour, Head Auror." _Finally, a name to the face,_ he thought blearily.

"Why am I tied up, Professor?" His voice came out as a dry rasp.

Albus looked down at the bound wizard with sadness for Harry and anger directed towards Fudge and Scrimgeour. "Were it my decision you would not be. But this lies within Rufus Scrimgeour's jurisdiction, not mine," he explained heavily. "Do you remember what happened the night the Death Eaters attacked you?"

Harry frowned at the wording of the Headmaster's question. "Didn't that happen last night?"

Dumbledore's brows furrowed. "No, Harry, you have been asleep for three days."

"Oh…" was all he said.

"Enough of this, Albus. Let me inform him of the allegations that have been pressed by Rufus here." With a flourish, Fudge unrolled a parchment that he had kept hidden underneath his pinstriped cloak. "'Harry James Potter has been charged with involuntary manslaughter and the violation of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction on the Use of Underage Sorcery on July the 17th of 1996. His trial is scheduled to be held in Courtroom Ten at 3 p.m. on July the 21st of 1996 before the entire Wizengamot.' Any questions?" Fudge smirked as he rolled up the parchment.

Harry closed his eyes in an attempt to keep his emotions under control. _Deep breaths,_ he thought to himself, _Just take deep breaths._

"Cornelius, may I spend a few minutes alone with Harry?" Dumbledore asked in a complacent manner. "There are a few things I need to discuss about the trial so that he will know what is coming."

The Minister seemed to ponder the Headmaster's request for a fraction of a second before barking out, "That's fine. Come Rufus, Weatherby, we have work to do…"

After the door closed behind the two Ministry officials, Dumbledore closed his eyes and sighed profoundly before placing a Silencing Charm on the room. Reaching out, he took one of Harry's cuffed hands in his own, remorse shining in his usually twinkling eyes. "I'm so sorry, Harry," the old professor started, "I didn't have enough stable ground to argue my way into letting you return with me to Hogwarts. Please, don't interrupt quite yet," he murmured when Harry made to argue, "Let me explain a few things to you. You know I fled from the Ministry Aurors last year in my office. During my absence from Hogwarts, I was, for all intents and purposes, a fugitive. Now, while I am fine with the idea that I was a fugitive because of my own doing, I am rather uncomfortable knowing that, through my actions, I might force one of my own students to run from the law. Do you understand now, Harry?"

"Yes, Professor," Harry replied. "But is it really that much better to be going to a trial in which I am all but guaranteed a one-way trip to Azkaban for manslaughter? Wouldn't being a fugitive be a better alternative to being caged in a cell and guarded by Dementors day and night?" Harry shuddered at the mere thought, then grew depressed at the thought of Sirius' confinement in Azkaban for twelve horrible, long years and his later three years as a fugitive.

Dumbledore watched as Harry's eyes dimmed and glistened with unshed tears. It was obvious that the teen was still grieving for his Godfather. The aged, wrinkled hands tenderly rubbed the slim, youthful hand gently sandwiched between his own, touch alone sending a more heartfelt message than any words ever could.

They remained silent, allowing each other to provide comfort and to compose themselves.

At length, Harry whispered a hoarse, "Thank you," that conveyed more gratitude than Albus could have imagined.

"You're welcome, my dear boy, you are most welcome," the Headmaster responded with a sad smile that was hidden beneath his white beard.

"So… what's going to happen with the trial? Seems to me that I should just say, 'I am guilty' and be bloody done with it," Harry murmured despondently.

Dumbledore frowned at Harry's downcast attitude. "Don't be too resigned about your fate just yet. We will do everything we can to ensure that the charges are dropped."

Harry blinked. "We?"

"Yes, we," Dumbledore said with a small chuckle. "We—Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape, Alastor Moody, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Nymphadora Tonks, and of course, myself—will do everything within our power to aid you. All we ask is that you be truthful during your trial."

Harry sighed. "I guess I can do that. It would be the least I can do for what you are doing for me." He paused, a thought suddenly coming to him. "Where's my wand?"

Dumbledore turned to look near the light source. "It is there, lying on a small table next to the candles," he replied. "They have said that you cannot touch it right now."

"Please, Professor," Harry started, "I would like my wa—"

"Time's up." Both Harry and Albus looked to the door to find Rufus Scrimgeour waiting for the elderly man.

Dumbledore squeezed Harry's hands once and discretely cancelled the Silencing Charm. "We'll help you. Remember that."

"I will, Professor. Thank you," Harry responded. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Harry." And the door closed behind the Headmaster, leaving Harry alone to his thoughts.

---

_A repeat of last year,_ Harry thought gloomily, _Just my bloody luck._ His hands were bound behind his back with manacles as he was flanked by two unknown Aurors. Two more Aurors preceded him as they chaperoned him into Courtroom Ten approximately five minutes to 3 p.m. The foyer area of the courtrooms was packed with people wanting to witness the trial of the famous Boy-Who-Lived. Aurors kept the crowds out of the courtroom. Harry ignored the questions of reporters and entered the room.

He glanced around and found Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape in the witness' bench, along with Mad-Eye Moody, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Tonks. The Weasleys, sans Percy and Charlie, were in attendance, as well as Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom, Remus Lupin, and Rubeus Hagrid. A few assorted news reporters sat in the remaining benches. Hermione, Luna, Neville, Tonks, Hagrid, and the Weasleys waved at Harry as he came in, while everyone else but Snape favored Harry with a smile and a nod. The Potions Master simply scowled.

The Aurors led Harry up to a rather uncomfortable-looking chair that secured his arms, legs, and neck with enchanted leather straps. His wand, carried by one of the Aurors, was placed on a small pedestal next to him. "No funny business, you hear?" one of the Aurors growled as they took up their stations alongside many others already positioned along the walls and doors of the courtroom.

Harry, now seated, looked forwards to find the entire Wizengamot assembled before him. He gulped. They looked just as unfriendly as he remembered, dressed in their plum-colored robes with the embroidered silver "W". _Just speak the truth,_ he reminded himself, looking towards the Headmaster. _He'll help me._

As if hearing his thoughts, Dumbledore turned to look at Harry and their eyes met. Giving a weak smile, Dumbledore returned his well-hidden but troubled gaze to the members of the Wizengamot. Harry felt his stomach drop. He couldn't shake the feeling that somehow, this was not going to turn out well. He'd awoken that morning with the feeling and it had not left. _It's just my nerves,_ he told himself, _I'm just nervous is all._

A minute before the hour, Minister Fudge walked in, followed by his Senior Undersecretary, Dolores Umbridge, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement Amelia Bones, Rufus Scrimgeour, and the Court Scribe. Harry grimaced at the sight of the short, dumpy woman—reflexively he took a fleeting look at the back of his right hand, which still bore in shiny, whitened skin, "I will not tell lies". In his peripheral vision, he caught his friends recoiling at the sight of her. Madam Bones sat down at a small table off to the side as the Court Scribe settled herself in her own little desk. Fudge, Umbridge, and Scrimgeour settled at a table a little ways from the rest of Harry's friends and professors on the witness bench.

Since Dumbledore was, once again, going to testify, another Wizengamot Elder had temporarily assumed his position as Chief Warlock. "The court is now in session," the temporary Chief Warlock announced, "The defendant, Harry James Potter, child of the late James Potter and Lily Evans Potter, stands charged this 21st of July, 1996 of the following crimes: involuntary manslaughter and the violation of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction on the Use of Underage Sorcery on July the 17th of 1996. The defendant is providing the following witnesses to testify: Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Severus Snape, Alastor Moody, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Nymphadora Tonks. The prosecution has two minutes to open."

The Minister shuffled some parchments, his chest puffed up with an air of importance.

"The prosecution charges defendant Harry James Potter for the following misdemeanors: involuntary manslaughter and the violation of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction on the Use of Underage Sorcery. Both of these acts were committed on the evening of July 17th, 1996. For the former charge, no wand was used. Five Death Eaters were found dead, and every Muggle within a circular area two miles across, as well as all other life forms, were also dead. As of now the totals are: five Death Eater casualties, fourteen wizard and witch casualties, and seven hundred twenty-nine Muggle casualties. Sixty-eight wizards and witches are currently in states of unconsciousness and one thousand two hundred ninety-three Muggles are currently in states of unconsciousness. The greater London area experienced magical and Muggle means of power outages for hours afterwards, and all across Britain, there were reports of the same for shorter periods of time."

Harry blanched paper-white when he heard the statistics.

"We argue that that Harry Potter is the responsible party for this widespread destruction of life. We thank the Wizengamot for its time." Cornelius Fudge nodded to the assembled judges with a smug grin and sat back down.

The temporary Chief Warlock spoke up. "The defense has two minutes to open."

The Boy-Who-Lived licked his dry lips. Looking up to the Wizengamot, he prepared himself to speak.

"Harry had no intention of killing anyone that night."

Every head turned to look at Albus Dumbledore as he stood up. "The Decree for the Reasonable Restriction on the Use of Underage Sorcery states that underage wizards may, in times of self-defense, perform magic. Harry reacted merely out of self-defense. This can be explained by any animal's natural instincts. Instinct told him to neutralize the threat, and he simply responded subconsciously. Harry is not a killer; he did not kill those people with the intent. He is not comparable to Voldemort."

Everyone besides Albus himself and Harry shuddered at the name.

"We thank the Wizengamot for its time." Albus sank back into his seat.

---

Minerva, Severus, Alastor, Kingsley, and Tonks had all been called up to the witness' stand, dosed with Veritaserum, and questioned thoroughly by Scrimgeour.

"The prosecution calls Albus Dumbledore to the witness' stand."

Dumbledore stood and strolled to the booth.

"Please," prompted the temporary Chief Warlock, "Take the dose of Veritaserum."

The Headmaster accepted the small vial and tipped the contents into his mouth.

"Thank you," the temporary Chief Warlock said. "The prosecution may begin questioning."

Rufus Scrimgeour loped to the witness' stand. "Albus Dumbledore, recreate, in your own words, what you saw the evening of July 17th, 1996."

Albus sighed, and in that moment, Harry saw how aged and weary Dumbledore really was. "I was in my office in Hogwarts that evening, doing paperwork when I felt a powerful magical disturbance. It caused many of the little gadgets I possess in my office to either go off or explode. I had to shield myself from the flying pieces. Kingsley Shacklebolt firecalled me almost immediately afterwards, telling me of his and the Auror forces' impending deployment to Little Whinging. I gathered Alastor Moody, Minerva McGonagall, and Severus Snape. We apparated to the site. The magical residue was strong enough to cause any further magic performed to go haywire.

"We met up with Kingsley, Tonks, Dawlish, and Williamson. Dawlish and Williamson were to dispel the Dark Mark, while the rest of us followed the trail of scorches and pockmarks in the pavement. We found Harry, unconscious and ringed by the dead Death Eaters. We stunned and bound the Death Eaters and had only just confirmed that Harry was alive when more Aurors appeared."

"Tell me, Mr. Dumbledore, do you believe Harry Potter to be innocent of the charges?" asked Scrimgeour.

Albus nodded. "I do. What he performed back then was accidental magic."

"So then, Mr. Dumbledore, could you explain to me how accidental magic could kill? It is widely known that accidental magic requires a great amount of will power and intent to be performed."

The Headmaster pursed his lips. It was this issue that he had dreaded since the night Harry had been taken to the Ministry. "Perhaps Harry had wanted to stun them so that he would not be further injured. It may be that his desire to survive pushed too much power into the stunning intention, therefore killing the Death Eaters."

"And what of the Muggles killed?" pressed Scrimgeour.

Dumbledore thought about the question for a moment before responding, "My belief is that Harry was a little overzealous in his desire to keep the Death Eaters from harming him."

"Mr. Dumbledore, is it your belief that Harry Potter had no desire to kill the Death Eaters _despite_ the fact that he killed everything within a kilometer from him?" Scrimgeour almost snorted to himself at the question.

Albus' gaze considered Rufus carefully. "Yes."

Scrimgeour narrowed his eyes at the elderly man before turning to the assembled judges. "The prosecution has no further questions."

Albus Dumbledore was dismissed from the witness' stand.

Everyone tensed up. They knew who would be called next.

"The prosecution calls Harry Potter to the witness' stand."

---

Harry listened to Dumbledore's recitation of what he saw that night with his eyes staring vacantly into the floor. When Rufus asked the questions about accidental magic, Harry could only listen with terror at Dumbledore's answers. _It wasn't like that at all!_ his mind screamed, _I had wanted them dead!_

"The prosecution has no further questions."

"Mr. Dumbledore, you may return to your seat," said the temporary Chief Warlock.

Harry's head snapped up and he clenched his fists. _Oh no, no, no no, no, NO!_

"The prosecution calls Harry Potter to the witness' stand."

The same four Aurors came and undid the clasps holding Harry prisoner. They led him to the witness' stand and backed a meter away, wands trained on him. He saw his friends, white-faced and tense in the benches, smiling reassuringly at him.

"Give him the Veritaserum," commanded the temporary Chief Warlock.

Once the small dosage of potion was administered, the temporary Chief Warlock said, "Thank you. The prosecution may begin questioning."

Rufus Scrimgeour stood before Harry. "Harry Potter, recreate, in your own words, what you saw the evening of July 17th, 1996."

Harry inhaled deeply and began his tale. "I had been sleeping, dreaming of the death of Sirius Black—my Godfather—in which he fell through the Veiled Arch in the Death Chamber in the Department of Mysteries. I awoke because I felt there was something wrong. The street lamps were out. My owl flew to me and I told her to find shelter at Hogwarts after hearing creaks on the stairs of the Dursley residence. I let my owl out through the window, where I saw my door, which was locked from the outside, open and saw the green light from the Killing Curse aimed at my bed.

"I escaped through the window and fled, using a shield to protect me as much as possible. Most of the curses fired at me were Unforgivables and Dark Arts stuff. I had wondered where Dumbledore was. The Death Eaters chased me until I reached a dead end in the neighborhood. I fired spells while hiding behind a Muggle vehicle until they vanished it. I turned to run, but they had apparated all around me. I was put under the Cruciatus Curse for a while. They taunted me and told me I was to die that night. I remembered the promise I made to myself and Sirius. I would survive. They would not kill me unless I took Voldemort as well. I felt rage at the mere thought that they would kill me and I let that emotion take control.

"I don't really remember what happened right after. But when I came to, I saw the dead Death Eaters—five, not seven—and noticed how it was eerily quiet. I fainted."

Rufus Scrimgeour grinned. "Mr. Potter, what did you feel when that rage overcame you? Could you describe it in greater detail?"

Warning signals fired off in Harry's mind at the question. He knew that this would either set him free or imprison him for life. Yet he could not lie. "I hated them. I hated them with a passion and had already decided to myself that if I were to die I would take them, and Voldemort, with me." He visibly struggled with what he said next. "I wanted them dead. I wanted them gone so that I could fulfill my promise to live my life the way I want—free from assassination attempts."

Shocked outcries erupted from the courtroom. Harry's head dropped as fear and dread settled in his stomach. _I did what you asked, Professor Dumbledore. I spoke the truth._

---

Two hours later the Wizengamot filed back into Courtroom Ten and took their places. Silence immediately fell and all eyes focused attentively on the temporary Chief Warlock.

Harry waited with baited breath as the temporary Chief Warlock stood to address the courtroom.

"The Wizengamot has reached a verdict. After much deliberation, Harry James Potter stands, guilty as charged."

---

The Shakespeare quote from the Prologue is from _As You Like It_, Act III, Scene V. The courtroom scene was taxing and tedious—at least I thought so. I am trying my best to keep the past events as accurate as I can, considering I don't have any of the books with me. I hope you enjoyed it and please, review. I'd like to know if there is anything I can fix (book-wise or not) or do better on.

-Tal.

---

Completed: 7.9.2006

Edited: 7.17.2006

Re-edited: 12.29.08

---


	3. Chapter II: Welcome to a Nightmare

Harry Potter characters do not belong to me but to J.K. Rowling.

---

In Terms of a Name

By Taliya

---

Chapter II: Welcome to a Nightmare

---

Harry waited with baited breath as the temporary Chief Warlock stood to address the courtroom.

"The Wizengamot has reached a verdict. After much deliberation, Harry James Potter stands, guilty as charged."

---

In the Riddle Manor in Little Hangleton, a man more widely known as Lord Voldemort sat in wait before a fire in the study. A twelve-foot long snake lay curled near his feet, basking in the warmth of the flames. He gazed into the flames silently, contemplating his future plans. The attempt to end young Harry Potter's life had ended in failure. The two Death Eaters that returned last night, Wormtail and Bellatrix Lestrange, had both been punished severely. And, yet again, his followers' numbers had dropped. His lips curled in a snarl. _"Thossse foolsss botched up a fool-proof plan to kill Potter again,"_ he hissed harshly.

The snake lifted her head to stare with beady eyes at the man. _"The boy wasss unssstable and unpredictable. You of all ssshould know that, Massster,"_ she softly chided.

Voldemort growled, his anger ebbing with the snake's words. _"I ssshould kill you for your cheek, Nagini," _he hissed back as he invited her to slide into his lap. She obliged, slithering up the chair legs and over the arm rest.

"_I'm sssimply worried for you, Massster,"_ she replied as she coiled into loose loops on the man's thighs.

Voldemort patted the serpent's head in an almost loving manner. "Wormtail!" he barked, straightening in his seat.

The doors opened and a short, round man came through almost at a run. He fell into a bow before the man, rasping, "My Lord."

"What have you heard of the boy?"

The rat-faced man hesitated for a moment, then said, "They have him at the Ministry. Rumor has it that he is to be put on trial for manslaughter in three days' time, Master."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed a little. "Anything else?"

"My Lord, they say that if he is found guilty he will be sentenced to a lifetime in Azkaban," Wormtail dutifully reported.

The Dark Lord leaned back into the armchair, ideas whirling in his mind. A malicious grin spread across the man's face. "Wormtail," he commanded, "Keep a watch out for that trial. The moment the verdict is announced, you will inform me."

Wormtail kissed the hem of the Dark Lord's robes. "Of course, Master." He rose off the floor.

"And Wormtail?"

The man paused in his exit to the door. "My Lord?"

Voldemort casually flicked his wand. _"Crucio."_

Wormtail crumpled to the floor, screaming and writhing in pain.

"I am still quite angry with your failure. I will not tolerate another." Nagini hissed her agreement. Voldemort lifted the Cruciatus Curse off the unfortunate man.

Wormtail whimpered as he crawled to his feet. "I will n-not f-f-f-fail you, m-m-my Lord," he stuttered through his pain. He stumbled out of the room, shutting the door as quietly as he could considering his still-quivering muscles.

"_That man,"_ Nagini stated blandly, _"Isss nothing but a pathetic coward."_ She turned to look at the Dark Lord. _"Why do you ssstill keep him anyway?"_

Voldemort heaved a long-suffering sigh that he would never do before anyone other than his pet. _"My dear Nagini,"_ he murmured as he gently stroked her head, _"He hasss hisss usssesss. Few of my Death Eatersss have an Animagusss form they can ussse to ssspy."_

Nagini replied with a simple, _"Point taken."_

---

Courtroom Ten was silent for all of ten seconds.

"That's not fair!" Harry torpidly turned his head to see Hermione Granger up on her feet, fists clenched, eyes blazing with anger. Frantic whispering simmered throughout the courtroom. Before she could add on to her objection, Remus Lupin reached out and gently pulled her back down to her seat. "But—"

"Hush, Ms. Granger," Lupin whispered, "The Wizengamot has not yet finished."

Hermione looked as though to continue arguing but Remus shook his head and turned back to the standing temporary Chief Warlock.

The temporary Chief Warlock cleared his throat, and the low murmurs died. "The sentence for Mr. Potter's crimes will be a lifetime in Azkaban Prison and the snapping of his wand."

The roar from the courtroom was overwhelming for so few people. And yet, Harry didn't hear a thing. It was as if his whole world had contracted until it revolved around one thing: he was going to Azkaban for life. He had a gobsmacked expression on his face.

He did not notice Dumbledore comforting Remus and Minerva. He did not notice his friends fighting the Aurors in a vain attempt to reach him. He did not notice the reporters scrambling to take magical photographs and flee to send their reports to their respective headquarters. He did not notice the Aurors leading him before the Wizengamot, snapping his wand, and throwing the remains in a garbage bin, then leading him back to the cell and placing different sets of spelled manacles on his wrists and ankles. Harry was then placed under a Disillusionment Charm and marched to a small Apparition Chamber. From there, they apperated to a foggy, desolate-looking shore with a small dock. A small rowboat was moored to the dock. Harry docilely sat down and watched as the shoreline disappeared from sight, cloaked by the swirling mists.

Harry was numb. His life was over. His head dipped forwards and a single tear squeezed itself from between shut eyelids. _I'm sorry, Sirius, I'm so very sorry I couldn't keep my promise._ The shrouded outline of Azkaban loomed to the fore. The atmosphere grew steadily chillier and darker. The Aurors continued rowing towards the Wizarding prison.

By now, all of the Dementors had deserted Azkaban Prison. A few members of the Auror forces had been transferred to guard the remaining prisoners. A few of those assigned to that unwelcoming island gathered to greet their newest resident.

The boat was moored at the small pier and Harry was hauled onto the dock. They led him up the steep, rocky precipices and into the dreary entrance hall. After taking off his shackles and striping him naked, they roughly shoved coarse-feeling clothing into his arms, ordering him to put them on. He methodically did so with no complaints. They took magical photographs of him and gave him a dog tag on a thin chain with an identification number. He was collared with an enchanted iron ring on his neck and was led down numerous hallways and shoved into a small cell, furnished with a cot, a thin blanket, a bucket full of water, and an empty pail.

The cell door clanged shut, the lock and the wards were set, and Harry was left alone with misery for company.

---

The Ministry of Magic had been in an uproar since the conclusion of one Harry James Potter's case. People were flooing and apparating in and out of the main foyer, babbling excitedly and anxiously about what happened in Courtroom Ten and what was to become of the Wizarding world now that their icon of the Light was gone. Would He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named take over, killing all Muggles and Mudbloods alike? It was a horrible future to contemplate, but a very possible future now that the Boy-Who-Lived was behind enchanted bars for life.

Away from all the commotion, in the familiar home known as the Burrow, the Weasleys, along with all of Harry's friends and professors that came to his trial, were nestled in the living room, mourning or contemplating the loss of one of their own. The atmosphere was solemn and dismal.

Minerva, Ginny, and her father, Arthur Weasley, were comforting the crying Weasley matron, Molly. Hermione was sandwiched between Ron and Remus as she cried for their friend. Dumbledore sat in an overstuffed armchair patting the arm of Hagrid, who was currently situated on the floor and sobbing loudly. Fred and George in a corner, half-heartedly plotting ways to break Harry out of Azkaban Prison without the aid of Harry being an Animagus. Snape and Moody were thoughtful and quiet, although they were stationed in opposite corners.

The weeping eventually died down, leaving everyone to their own thoughts in the tense silence that followed. But one thought remained prevalent in each mind: _What is to become of us and our world?_

Molly Weasley was the first the break the silence. "Poor Harry," she murmured, her head resting on her husband's shoulder. Her eyes stared vacantly into the opposite wall.

"Fate always seemed to enjoy pulling Harry's strings," Hermione said softly with a bitter laugh.

Dumbledore frowned. Hermione's comment had hit a little too close to home for his personal comfort. He himself had orchestrated a large majority of the string pulling in Harry's life. Although Dumbledore himself had not been even fractionally responsible for the events leading to Harry's incarceration, the aged Headmaster felt as though he had failed the young man now doomed to a lifetime of imprisonment.

"_Fate always seemed to enjoy pulling Harry's strings."_

Hermione's comment ricocheted in his mind, back and forth, back and forth, increasing his guilt tenfold. Albus sighed deeply, suddenly feeling his age rather acutely. _I'll do whatever I can to get you out, Harry,_ he vowed to himself, _I'll argue myself blue in the face if I have to._ Steeling himself for the events to come, Albus Dumbledore stood up. All eyes settled on him.

The Headmaster tipped his head at his hosts. "Thank you for your hospitality Molly, Arthur," he murmured.

"Where are you going, Albus?" asked Minerva as she rubbed Ginny's back.

"The Ministry of Magic. I am in need of a discussion or two with our… _esteemed_… Minister of Magic," he stated with a glint in his eyes. "I bid you all a good evening." He helped himself out of the crowded room and disappeared at the Apparition Point in the Weasleys' entrance hall.

---

"Master!" Wormtail cried as he entered the study in a near-run, "Master! I bring you good tidings!" The Death Eater flopped into a groveling stance and kissed his robes.

"Report, Wormtail," Voldemort growled.

"Potter has been sentenced to life imprisonment and his wand has been snapped, Milord." Voldemort remained silent for a length of time, and Wormtail tensed in anticipation of the Cruciatus Curse.

"You have done well, my loyal servant," the Dark Lord hissed at last.

Wormtail nearly sagged in relief. "You are too kind, Master," he simpered, kissing his robe hem yet again.

"Gather the Dementors. Tell them it is time they feast on the island they once inhabited. We will make good use of the pandemonium no doubt engulfing Wizarding Britain courtesy of their Boy Wonder," Voldemort sneered. "Wormtail, after collecting all the Dementors, you and Bellatrix are to storm Azkaban, release those loyal to me, and do whatever you wish to with the rest. However," Voldemort paused in thought, "Do not kill the rest. Let the Dementors have their feast. Find Potter, but do not have him Kissed. Offer him the chance to join me. Should he refuse, make sure—_personally_, Wormtail—that the Potter brat is brought to me. I want to see him when he refuses me and dies." A dark smile spread across the pale face.

"Of course, my Lord. It will be done immediately." Wormtail rose and departed, surprisingly, without being cursed.

---

"FOR THE LAST TIME, DUMBLEDORE, I _REFUSE_ TO OVERRIDE THE JUDGMENT OF THE WIZENGAMOT!" roared Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge as he stomped around his office. Headmaster Albus Dumbledore observed the enraged Minister with resolve.

"Cornelius, please! Now that you have hard proof that Voldemort is back, you must take actions to prevent our side from losing hope of winning the war! Harry Potter is that hope, and if you lock him away you are dooming the rest of us to a future of slaughter and misery!" Dumbledore argued, hating every word that left his lips. Harry was more, _so_ much more, than just a tool in this cruel game of war.

"Dumbledore, you fully expect me to _pardon_ a boy that killed over _seven-hundred_ people in a single night? Are you _MAD_?" the Minister hissed, eyes flashing furiously.

The steely glint in the Headmaster's eyes never faded; they only hardened even more. "Yes, Cornelius, I expect you to. Harry Potter is the Boy-Who-Lived! He is the only means we have of defeating Voldemort forever!" Disgust welled up inside him, but he consoled himself with the fact that he was, at least, arguing for Harry's freedom.

"Preposterous, Dumbledore, simply preposterous!" Fudge threw his hands up in the air. "Potter's only a child! Why in Merlin's name would he be able to complete a task a fully-trained Auror squadron could not do? Potter's only a spoiled, fame-grabbing—"

Fudge's rant came to an abrupt halt as he eyed the wand pointed at him. Dumbledore's usually twinkling blue eyes smoldered with barely-suppressed fury. "Cornelius Oswald Fudge," he stated, his voice rumbling with tightly-leashed power, "This is not about publicity or fame. This is about the lives of the Wizarding populace. If you fail to liberate Harry, not only are you condemning our side, you are condemning all of Britain—and possibly the continent—to a future of bloodshed and chaos." Dumbledore's magic rolled from him in waves, causing the fine hairs on the Minister's neck to stand on end. "Release him. Give us a fighting chance."

The Minister shook himself out of his stupor, visibly gathering steam. "Now see here, Dumbledore! I—"

Fudge was interrupted by a knock on his door. Without waiting for permission, Rufus Scrimgeour entered. "Sirs," he greeted, "We have an emergency situation on our hands. We've just received word that Azkaban has been stormed by both Dementors and Death Eaters."

Fudge paled and Dumbledore took a calming breath. Seeing as how Fudge had been shocked one too many times—literally, Albus asked, "What is being done about the situation, Rufus?"

Rufus straightened. "We are dispatching two-thirds of our Auror force to drive away the Dementors and to take down any and all Death Eaters. The remaining Aurors will stay here to protect the Minister and other Ministry officials."

Dumbledore nodded distractedly before departing with a hasty, "Good day." Apparating out of the Ministry foyer, he Disapparated at the Burrow. Almost running inside, he found his peers and students where he had left them. They all took in his pallid countenance and tensed in apprehension. "Azkaban's been broken into by Dementors and Death Eaters. Minerva, Severus, Alastor, Arthur, gather up the Order. We need to help the Aurors. Molly, stay with the children."

The living room of the Burrow exploded in a dizzying whirl of activity. Amidst it all, Albus Dumbledore stood, head bowed, praying that one Harry Potter was still there, alive and unharmed.

---

Nary four hours had passed since Harry had been roughly shoved into his cell and locked up. He sat on the edge of the cot, staring listlessly at the dirty, mold-blackened stone under his feet. The hallways faintly echoed with the inarticulate screams of its inmates; most of them had been driven to insanity by the Dementors' presence before they deserted the Wizarding prison. Harry had barely noticed the passage of time. He had only roused himself from his position on the cot to sip some of the provided water in the bucket. From what he had gathered in his daze, the other pail was used to store bodily waste, if the rank smell throughout the prison was any indication whatsoever.

Evening had settled in, and a cool breeze swept through the poorly-insulated prison. Harry clutched the thin blanket closer about his form as he remained perched on the side of the cot. His eyes drooped and every now and then he would start, shake himself, and slowly begin to doze off once again.

He awoke with a jerk some time later to an eerie silence. His senses were alerted by that same strange feeling of wrongness he had felt the night he had—

_I can't think of that now,_ Harry chided himself as a cold, dismal feeling settled in his bones. The images of that night's events played itself in his mind more forcefully than before. His heart rate increased as he gulped in air. _The Dementors are gone… Why are they coming back?_ Harry clumsily scooted into the back corner of his cell, as far away from the door as possible, all the while clutching the blanket around himself with a sort of desperation. His chest heaved despite his efforts to control his escalating fear.

Anguished screams met his ears as his fellow inmates began feeling the effects of the former Azkaban guards. Amidst the screams were the yelled commands of the Aurors as they organized themselves. The yells stopped; it seemed as if the Aurors were laying in wait. The prisoners' shrieks continued.

Harry shivered with the imagined cold as he waited. All became quiet as the entire structure shuddered with a resounding _boom_. Harry involuntarily sucked in a breath and held in terrified anticipation. The _boom_ came again with another wave of vibrations. The last _boom_ came with the resonating sound of splintering wood. The echoes of curses and hexes being cast floated to his ears. Harry let out the breath he didn't know he had been holding. The battle had begun. The inmates once again initiated their chorus of wails, but Harry detected raw, unfiltered fear in these fresh screams.

The Dementors were in Azkaban.

The Boy-Who-Lived trembled from the frostiness that had settled in his core. A high, feminine scream resounded in his ears, echoing in his mind. Harry squeezed his eyes shut in a fruitless attempt to stop the pained screaming. The screaming in his mind did not stop, but a cold, high laugh joined in the cacophony in Harry's head. The additional scream he heard did not help, but it was not until he had to gulp in air that he realized that _he_ was that additional scream.

The iciness and the shrieks and laughter of his memories increased in intensity tenfold. He then felt the effects of the Dementor taper off slightly. A bit confused, Harry nonetheless pried an eye open before pressing himself as far as he could into the cold stone wall behind him, his fear temporarily forgotten in his anger and hate towards the man he saw. His lips pressed together to form a thin line.

Wormtail stood before the door to his cell, mask off and hood lowered. "Hello, Potter," Wormtail sneered, "Fancy seeing you here of all places. If only Black were here with you. You'd be… _happy_… I daresay."

There mere mention of Harry's godfather, Sirius Black, was more than enough to make the youth lunge out to strangle the traitor. It felt as though a corrosive poison was being dripped into the still-bleeding wound that Sirius' absence had left in Harry's heart. Still, Harry struggled to pull his emotions under control and managed to keep himself from attempting the murder of the rat before him.

"What do you want, Wormtail?" Harry snarled through gritted teeth.

"Now Harry," Wormtail simpered, "Is that the correct manner to address your liberator?"

Harry scoffed. "Liberator? You're no liberator—unless you liberate souls from their bodies. You're a bloody Death Eater!" he mocked with a sarcastic, scornful tone.

"Now, now, Potter, I have a proposition for you from my Lord Voldemort. He is once again offering you the chance to join his ranks as his right-hand man in his Inner Circle. It would be wise to take up the offer," Wormtail suggested. _The little brat will have higher standing than I,_ Wormtail thought touchily.

"Well, tell your dear _Lord_," Harry spat, "That he can just bugger off. As if I would join that madman and his merry band of murderers!"

The Dark Lord's servant stiffened. "You know, Potter, that I am under orders to _personally_ supervise your visiting my Lord. This Dementor here," Wormtail gestured to the cloaked being at the end of the hallway with his magical silver right hand, "Is here to ensure that you are on your best behavior."

Harry clenched his hands until they were pale and trembling with his anger. Had it not been for the spelled collar wrapped about his neck, Harry's innate magic would have exploded in the same manner as that one condemning night…

As it were, the ring fizzled and sparked as the enchantments restricted both Harry's conscious and unconscious efforts to use magic. Harry was, effectively, a Squib. His mind reeled with the stark certainty that his life was now in his enemy's hands.

Harry choked as the ring applied pressure to his throat—a clear warning not to use any form of magic. _Probably developed since Sirius' miraculous escape,_ he thought bitingly. After ten seconds' worth of suffering, the ring released the pressure, leaving the young wizard gasping for breath.

Wormtail sniggered, thoroughly enjoying the unexpected little bout of punishment the Light's precious Boy-Who-Lived had received. "Tut, tut, Potter," he snipped, wagging his silver index finger at the youth. "You only got what you deserved."

Harry bit his tongue to stop the barrage of words that threatened to flow from his lips. He would not give the git the pleasure of knowing he had riled him up.

"Now, Potter, I'm going to open the door. Do anything funny, and you will be introduced rather intimately to my cloaked friend here." The Dementor merely stood where it had been, a thick but diaphanous layer of black fog surrounding where its tattered robes met the cold stone of the floor. Wormtail proceeded to undo the wards and locks with a complicated series of wand movements and incantations that Harry suspected someone had to have taught it to him—repeatedly.

At length Wormtail opened the cell door and strolled in, his wand trained on the youth. "Make this easier for yourself, Potter, and touch the portkey," he commanded, producing a wooden stick from his robes. He held it out as far as he could, as if trying to keep the proximity between Harry and himself at a maximum.

"Dementor," he barked over his shoulder, keeping both eyes and wand still pointed at Harry, "Back to the Manor."

The Dementor dissipated in that same black fog. The fog, acting like some sort of writhing liquid, streamed up and out of a thin, long window in the hallway near the ceiling.

Wormtail produced a wooden stick from his robes. "Grab on," he hissed, "We are going to see the Dark Lord."

Harry was in a quandary. He could either:

A.) Go with the cowardly git and die by the hand of Voldemort; or

B.) He could make a run for it, considering said cowardly git forgot to close the cell door, only to be shot down.

He barely managed to suppress a disgusted groan. _Either way I'll be shot down like a pig, all things considered._

Apprehensively, he grasped the stick. The familiar jerk-behind-the-naval feeling always left him feeling slightly sick. Both he and Wormtail spun dizzyingly through space. Harry stumbled a little as their ride came to an end. Glancing around, the dark, gloomy interior of a room met his eyes. Once a vision of opulence, the room had fallen into sad disrepair—the furniture was coated with a layer of pale dust, the crystal chandelier was home to a multitude of spiders, the walls were veined with cracks and hairline fractures.

All in all Harry did not like the look of this place. The fact that his famed lightning-shaped scar was throbbing was not helping his case. Wormtail had commanded that the Dementor go back to "the Manor", so it was probably a safe guess that he was in "the Manor" as well.

"Come, Potter," Wormtail said as he none-too-gently jabbed his wand into Harry's back, "Milord awaits."

The Boy-Who-Lived was frog-marched to what seemed to be a study. Death Eaters sneered and spit on him as he was pushed forth. The decrepit doors to the study were opened, and he was roughly shoved in. Harry, becoming increasingly blinded by the pain, tumbled to the floor with a grunt.

"My Lord," Wormtail announced as he bowed, "I have done your bidding and have brought to you the Potter brat."

Harry struggled to get up, wavering once he was on his feet. It was then that he noticed that there was a single armchair placed before a large fireplace. He noted through pain-glazed eyes that an ashen, long-fingered hand rested on the armrest that he could see. A black snake slithered over said hand and hissed, _"It isss a young human I sssee, Massster. Isss he the one you want?"_

The pallid hand gripped the armrest as a face just as pale peered from above. As Voldemort rested his cool, calculating gaze upon Harry, the pain in his scar increased threefold. Harry clenched his teeth, pressing his lips together to stem a weak moan.

Voldemort smirked. _"Yesss, my Nagini, it isss indeed the Potter boy."_ To Wormtail he spoke, "You have done well, Wormtail."

"You are kind, my Lord," Wormtail responded, bowing even lower.

"And Potter. So… _kind_ of you to visit," Voldemort welcomed in a dry, sarcastic tone. With his heavy gaze, he forced Harry to take two jerky paces towards him. "It is not often I receive visitors who… come of their own volition."

Laying on the thick sarcasm despite the pain, Harry responded in kind. "The pleasure is all mine," he managed through gritted teeth. Gulping in a deep breath, he added, "Although I must say it was sorely lacking in the Welcoming Committee."

Voldemort chuckled sardonically. "Indeed. I all but disagree with you." Both could see how Wormtail momentarily tensed at the insult. "Leave us," the Dark Lord commanded.

Wormtail shuffled out backwards, muttering words of his Lord's greatness. The door closed with a definitive _click_.

"Now," Voldemort began in a rather genial manner, "I believe that Wormtail has enlightened you to the reasons to which you now stand before me?" He petted his familiar's head, pale fingers gliding gently along smooth black scales. The serpent hissed her contentment.

"You want me to join you," Harry replied as smoothly as possible despite the pain in his scar.

"Ah, yes. And what of my offer?" queried Voldemort.

Harry sketched a grin that appeared more like a grimace. "You can take that offer of yours and shove it as far as it'll go."

The Dark Lord's superficial geniality melted away instantly to reveal a deep-seated animosity. "_Crucio._"

Harry dropped in a boneless manner to the floor, thrashing about in pain. Voldemort let the boy suffer the curse for a minute, then lifted it. Harry had not screamed once, heaving heavily on the ground. "Your first lesson: do not be smart with me, boy. You will suffer most painfully, as you have just experienced—nothing like a small bout of the Cruciatus, eh? Regardless, it would be wise to consider my offer."

He looked to the door and barked, "Wormtail!"

Said Death Eater scuttled in and bowed. "Yes, my Lord?"

"Take Potter and lock him up. He needs a few days' worth of… _convincing_." Voldemort grinned malevolently.

Wormtail bowed and roughly hauled Harry out the door, leaving the Dark Lord with a parting, "Of course, Master."

---

"We lost," Alastor Moody reported tiredly to the Headmaster. "We apparated to the shore, then conjured boats to take us across to the island. The whole place was swarming with Dementors and freed Death Eaters. When we got there, they were all already engaged in battle with the Aurors. We aided them greatly, but still were no match for their numbers. We had to retreat before we were completely overwhelmed."

Albus Dumbledore sat at the head of the formal dining table in Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, secret headquarters for the elusive underground Order of the Phoenix. Assembled around him were the members of the Order, all with various sorts of injuries. He furrowed his brows. "The remaining inmates?"

"Kissed," responded a weary Kingsley Shacklebolt, "Every single one."

The anxiety the Albus felt increased twofold. "And what of Harry?"

"Gone, Albus," Minerva McGonagall replied as steadily as she could. She had a bandage wrapped around her head, having taken a glancing blow from a Reductor Curse that had fractured her skull. She sat woozily on a chair, gently supported by Remus Lupin on one side and Molly Weasley on the other even though she had received a thorough scolding from the Weasley matron for not laying down.

Dumbledore sighed deeply. "Ideas as to his whereabouts?" he asked, even though he had a feeling he knew where the boy might be.

Severus Snape dispelled any doubts. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's keep."

The Headmaster sunk lower into his seat as a general outcry erupted from the Order members.

---

Harry was taken out of his unlit prison after what seemed like endless days of torture at the hands of Voldemort's Death Eaters. The Dark Lord's faithful had been instructed to torture the boy, but was under no circumstances to be killed or punished in such a way that he would assuredly die. The Boy-Who-Lived emerged from the dungeons looking ragged and worn, with a split lip, black eyes, and bruises all over. He was dumped brusquely by two black-clad Death Eaters before Voldemort. The Dark Lord dismissed his servants with a wave of his hand.

Turning to gaze at the beaten form of Harry Potter, Voldemort asked in an amiable manner, "So Potter, have you decided yet?"

Harry glared up at his nemesis and growled a hoarse, "I refuse to join forces with someone who uses fear to control people."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed in displeasure. _"Nagini,"_ he hissed.

Said serpent slithered through the partly open door. _"Massster?"_

"_Would you be ssso kind asss to ussse one of my ssservantsss to bring a Dementor to me?"_ requested Voldemort.

"_It ssshall be done, Massster,"_ Nagini replied, no doubt off to terrorize the hapless Death Eaters until one of them figured out why she was harassing them.

The Dark Lord and the icon of the Light engaged in a silent staring contest that lasted for several minutes until it was broken by the relative proximity of an approaching Dementor. Harry stiffened and scrunched his eyes shut as the screams and laughter began. He toppled to the floor, jerking his limbs. He completely blacked out as the Dementor entered the room.

Voldemort regarded the Boy-Who-Lived with contempt. Currently, the apparent "Savior of the Wizarding World" was collapsed on the floor, muscles spasmodically twitching. Gazing at the tall hooded figure, the Dark Lord addressed it: "Ah, my friend, I have a job for you that you will undoubtedly enjoy."

The Dementor inclined its head to indicate that it was listening.

"Please, Kiss the boy," he said, gesturing to the prone figure with a booted foot.

The Dementor let out a rattling breath and silently glided over to Harry, lowering its hood as it went. The black smoke the Dementor emitted curled about the youth as it neared. Harry snapped fully into consciousness the moment one blackened skeletal hand encircled his neck atop the iron collar, hauling him roughly up to leave him dangling above the ground, while the other clamped onto his jaw. The raw fear transmitted through the Dementor's touch did not leave him drowning in his worst memories—rather, it left his mind completely clear and comprehensive of what was transpiring. His eyes widened at the sight of the Dementor's eyeless, rotting countenance and realized what it was about to attempt. He stubbornly clamped his mouth shut as he desperately tried to think of a way to get out of the situation. Instinctively he began clawing and kicking at the Dementor, but it was of no use. The decomposing fingers were surprisingly strong, pressing unrelentingly on his cheeks between his teeth. Harry tried his best to endure the pain, but the pressure was too much and he unwillingly succumbed to the smarting by opening his jaw.

Voldemort watched the spectacle with no small amount of satisfaction. He smiled wickedly as the Dementor lowered its head toward its unwilling victim. Intertwining his fingers, he rested his elbows on the armrests and leaned back in his armchair to enjoy the rest of the "show."

Harry struggled all the more fiercely when he noticed the Dementor had started leaning down towards his face. _Oh, God, I'm going to have my soul sucked from me… Mum… Dad… Sirius… please, someone—anyone, help me…_ A single tear squeezed itself out from Harry's tightly shut eyelids and slid smoothly down his cheek before being obstructed by the Dementor's fingers.

Harry felt the frosty breath moments before frigid, slimy lips—if they could be called lips at all—clamped onto his open mouth. The anguished wails of thousands upon thousands Kissed before him echoed in his head. Iciness colder than anything he had yet experienced swept though him, leaving him numb and weak. He felt faint and dizzy, barely aware of his surroundings as his world grew bleaker and bleaker. He felt drained.

Just as he felt as though this were his last moment on this plane, a comforting warmth he had never felt before surged up from his very core, chasing the deadness away and leaving him shocked and dazed with its power. The Dementor screeched, dropping the boy like a hot potato and fleeing the room. Harry crashed to the floor, eyes closed and still. Other than the moving of his chest, Harry Potter, the famed Boy-Who-Lived looked, for all intents and purposes, dead.

The Dark Lord furrowed his brows in consternation as to why his precious Dementor follower had fled from the boy. It appeared as though the Dementor had done its job, and that the Potter brat was nothing but a shell—but he had to be certain. Standing up, he prodded the prone figure with the toe of his boot before striding over to one of the bookshelves that housed an assortment of potions. Picking up a small vial of Veritaserum, he returned to Harry's body and opened his mouth. Uncorking the glass container, he tipped three drops onto the youth's tongue and snapped his jaw shut with more force than was necessary. Corking the vial, he replaced the Veritaserum back in its proper place and turned to the boy, who had yet to move.

"What is your name?" he demanded after several seconds.

No answer.

"What is your name?" he repeated.

Still no answer.

Satisfied, Voldemort left the study to announce the planning of a Muggle raid to his faithful.

He never noticed the faint black smoke that surrounded Harry Potter's body.

---

And so another chapter is written. I hope you enjoyed it and please, review. I pretty much made up what happens when someone is Kissed by a Dementor, since I don't remember if J.K. Rowling wrote about it or not. Just so you know, I don't think there are going to be any 'ships for Harry in this, but if there is, it might either be a Harry x Hermione or Harry x Ginny. I'm also looking for someone who can edit out my Americanisms and replace them with Briticisms, as well as possibly beta for me.

-Tal.

---

Completed: 8.8.2006

Edited: 8.9.2006

Re-edited: 12.29.08

---


	4. Chapter III: Darkness Claims Him

Harry Potter characters do not belong to me but to J.K. Rowling.

---

In Terms of a Name

By Taliya

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Chapter III: Darkness Claims Him

---

Satisfied, Voldemort left the study to announce the planning of a Muggle raid to his faithful.

He never noticed the faint black smoke that surrounded Harry Potter's body.

---

Harry had been thrown back into the same room he had been kept in for torture. He still breathed, his heart still beat, he was still warm, but one look after peeling his eyelids open revealed glazed, deadened green eyes. His glasses were no longer perched on his nose, having been broken and lost some time during the torture session. Seven hours more had not changed his condition. This only further proved to Lord Voldemort that Harry Potter was truly no more and that the Dementor's reaction was a fluke. But to be safe, the Dark Lord had a Dementor remain stationed within the same room with instructions to Kiss the body if it showed any signs of conscious thought.

The Death Eaters left his body there under orders to let the body starve. Only when the body started to stink with the putrid stench of rotting flesh were they to remove it. Until then, the Dark Lord wanted to be able to see, to experience and savor for as long as possible, this very decisive victory against the Potter brat and transitively, the Light Side.

The sun rose, bringing forth another brilliant summer day. Songbirds heralded the coming of the morning; dew sparkled off various plants in the early morning sunlight. Afternoon produced warm rays of sunlight revealing honeybees buzzing about busily from blossom to blossom, birds and butterflies flitting about in the bright blue sky. Evening brought forth long shadows and rosy hues coating everything the dying sunlight touched. Chicks peeped sleepily in their nests as their parents settled over them like a warm blanket. Night brought the land a reprieve from sunlight with a peaceful, welcoming embrace. Insects chirped and frogs croaked in the coolness of dark as fireflies sporadically lit up the grass.

And through all this, Harry Potter remained oblivious to it. His eyes, although closed, were now darting to and fro rapidly. He appeared to be asleep, given how his eyes imitated the REM cycle portion of natural rest. However, it was more that simple sleep. Harry's mind was slowly, chaotically, assimilating lifetime upon lifetime of memories—names, faces, places, times, and above all, fears—that were not his. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he shifted in his unconsciousness.

The Dementor had sensed that there was something familiar with its charge. When Harry let out a groan, it reacted. The Dementor knelt by the boy, recognizing the "taste" of the black smoke that the human had been faintly emitting ever since he had been placed here. It let out a soft, rasping click as it took Harry carefully up in its arms and melted into that same black fog before exiting the Manor via a broken window.

The black smoke streamed along the surface of the earth with great speed, breezing south from Little Hangleton to just two miles west of Amesbury. Just ahead, the giant shadowed stone monoliths of Stonehenge appeared out of shrouded moonlit fog created by the gathering of thousands of Dementors. Many had arrived already, while others were in the process of coming, whether from the same black smoke or emerging from the shadows cast by the moon. They were assembling into orderly arcs in accordance with the ruined arrangement of the geologic monuments, filling and spilling beyond the area of the great circle etched into the surrounding grounds.

The black smoke expanded, revealing the Dementor with Harry in its arms. It let out another soft, rasping click as it approached. The other black-clad figures parted to allow the single Dementor carrying Harry to glide to the centre of the arrangement, with Dementors to the fore and towering stone structures behind. By now Harry's fingers were twitching every now and then while his eyes still rolled about rapidly beneath his eyelids. Every now and then a whimper would escape his lips as his brain continued incorporation. In a relatively short amount of time, Harry's complexion had paled. The dark fog that emanated from Harry had thickened with physical contact from the Dementor.

The Dementor placed Harry on the grass in the centre where an ancient stone altar had once stood. Raising its skeletal arms, it addressed its brethren in hoarse rattles, screeches, and clicks. The Dementor audience responded with clicks and screeches of its own. At length the Dementors seemed to reach an accord.

---

Lucius Malfoy was not happy. Granted, he had been freed from Azkaban Prison, but at one point the Dark Lord's most favored servant, it had been his duty to make periodic reports to his Master concerning the state of the Manor, its surrounding grounds, and the missions other Death Eaters had been sent off to. It had also been his job to keep tabs on the happenings of the Ministry of Magic and to mislead them—particularly the Minister of Magic—if he had to. But now, with no influence in the Ministry and his reputation shattered, Lucius was now only a monetary donor to Voldemort's war.

All of the Death Eaters within the Manor were on edge due to the unseen yet felt presence of the Dementors that were now allied with their Lord. They were scattered about the great room, some settled in the various couches, others standing. While not outwardly displaying their anxiety, they could nonetheless feel the tension in the air.

It was no surprise that they all looked around in confusion as the coolness from the Dementors' proximity ceased almost immediately. _What are those Dementors doing?_

Stepping out, Lucius addressed his colleagues, "Find out what those Dementors are doing. The Dark Lord will not be pleased to know that they upped and left. Bella, see that the body is still within the compound. Report back here in five minutes' time."

The Death Eaters fanned out within the Manor, intent on finding the wraith-like creatures of Darkness. Bellatrix Lestrange meandered downstairs to check up on "the body," as they had all taken to calling Potter after being Kissed. Lucius had only been waiting for barely a minute when he heard the cries of "Lucius! Arse buggering _shit_! _LUCIUS_!" coming from the stairwell. Moments later, Bellatrix tumbled into the room, a wild sort of look on her face.

"What now, woman?" he snapped.

"Lucius," Bellatrix panted, "The body is gone."

Only years of masking his emotions kept Lucius Malfoy from blinking in surprise. "Come again?" he asked in confusion.

"The body is gone!" hissed Bellatrix, "Harry Potter's bloody corpse is _NOT THERE_!" she ended in a scream. The wand clutched in her hand fizzled with red sparks.

Malfoy Senior's already pallid countenance paled even more. Tensing his jaw he growled, "Show me."

The two Death Eaters traveled down the stairs to the cell where the body was kept. A glance through the door revealed it to be empty.

"What happened?" he snarled, rounding on his step-sister.

"How should I effing know?" she spat right back, "You were the one our Master designated to place the wards around the cell! It was your own handiwork! Why don't _you_ know?"

Gritting his teeth, Lucius muttered a few incantations. After a few moments he growled. "Damn it. The wards were never breached."

"Then how did the body—a bleeding soulless corpse, I might add—get out?" Bellatrix demanded.

"I DON'T KNOW!" Lucius exploded. Collecting himself, he stated, "Come. We must inform our Lord immediately."

They both swept out of the room.

---

Cornelius Fudge sat in his bedroom, propped up by giant, fluffy pillows as he skimmed over proposed bills and old copies of the _Daily Prophet_. Two Aurors were stationed outside his bedroom door, giving the Minister of Magic the impression of feeling safe. Fudge's mind was not on the bills. They were on the storming of Azkaban. Many of the Death Eaters caught in the Department of Mysteries by Harry Potter and his little friends had all escaped. Potter himself was gone as well. The Aurors that survived the battle revealed that the prisoners not in He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's service had all been Kissed by the former guards of the island.

Fudge furrowed his brow as he sipped his glass of Ogden's Firewhiskey. _What to do, what to do? I need to talk to Dumbledore about how to boost public morale…_

He downed the rest of the firewhiskey and banished the tumbler to his kitchen sink. _I can do that first thing in the morning,_ he thought as he set the papers on his nightstand, flicked his wand while muttering, "_Nox,_" and snuggled under his covers.

---

Lord Voldemort was having a good day. He sat in his chair, petting his familiar's head as she snoozed on his lap. He had planned a Muggle raid that was set to take place the following evening if his information was correct. He had effectively killed the Boy-Who-Was-A-Bleeding-Thorn-In-His-Side, thereby delivering a crippling blow to the Light Side, although they did not know it yet. He had the allegiances of the Dementors. What more could the Darkest Lord of the Century ask for? Ah, yes, divinity, the ability to have the world at his mercy, the ability to use the universe as his play toy, the list could go on and on.

Unluckily for him, Lady Fortune had decided to abandon him and find someone else to bestow her precious gifts upon.

His pleasant musings of immortality, power, and domination were shattered with the stagnant knocks on his study door.

Voldemort let out a growled, "Enter."

One of his servants entered and bowed. "My Lord, your presence is requested in the great room," he said.

"And what occasion, pray tell, requires my presence?" Voldemort asked with irritation.

"It concerns the Dementors, Master," explained the Death Eater under explicit directions not to mention the body's disappearance.

The Dark Lord turned his full attention on the messenger. "Very well. You may go."

The Death Eater bowed again and left.

"_Nagini,"_ he hissed, waking the serpent, _"It ssseemsss asss though there are problemsss with the Dementorsss. Care to go with me to sssee what thisss isss all about?"_

The snake seemed to ponder his invitation before replying with an affirmative.

Gently coiling the reptile about his neck and shoulders, he donned his cloak, carefully sliding it under the resting serpent. He swept out of the study, his cloak billowing out menacingly behind him.

The great room doors were closed, but Voldemort could hear the whispers among his servants.

With a wave of his hand, the two doors opened with a resounding _bang_, effectively silencing the gossip. Voldemort crossed over to the front of the room and arranged himself on the chair placed on a permanently conjured dais next to the fireplace. "Now, what issue with the Dementors needs my attention?" he asked, red eyes roving over the prostrated forms of his Death Eaters.

His Inner Circle remained quiet, knowing that if their Lord wished them to speak, he would designate them. A more recent recruit to Voldemort's ranks obviously had not known this silent agreement between Master and servant, and had to learn it the hard way.

"May I suggest, Mast—"

He was silenced with a flick of his Master's wand, shortly accompanied by a muttered, "_Crucio._"

As the recruit writhed in pain, the Inner Circle members, faces hidden by the skull mask, rolled their eyes at the newbie's stupidity.

"You will learn to hold your tongue unless spoken to," reprimanded Voldemort in a lazy manner after lifting the curse.

The recruit choked out, "Yes Master," as he struggled to control the spasms in his muscles in order to stand.

"Rookwood."

"Milord?"

"Tell me, what is the reason I am now before you?" he stated, easing back into the chair and stroking Nagini along her back.

"My Lord, the Dementors—every single one of them—have vacated the grounds."

Voldemort's jaw tensed. "Do you have any reason as to _why_ they would leave?" Nagini, sensing her Master's displeasure, rubbed her head against the bottom of the man's chin.

Rookwood apologized. "No Master, I don't know why."

The Dark Lord took in a slow breath to contain his rising temper. "Anyone else? Lucius? Bellatrix? Walden? Rodolphus? Rabastan?"

None of them spoke.

"Very well. Anything else I need to be informed of?" Voldemort questioned testily.

Lucius seemed to visibly gather his courage and spoke up, "Milord." The infamous Malfoy façade was unable to hide to tiny quiver in his voice.

"Ah, Lucius. What have you to add?"

There was a hesitation before Malfoy replied. "The body, my Lord… is… gone."

There were a few moments of unbearable silence before the Dark Lord roared, "_WHAT?_"

The Death Eaters cowered.

The Dark Lord exploded in what could only be described as a full-blown rant. "YOU LOST A SHELL OF A HUMAN? ARE YOU ALL DAFT? _CRUCIO, CRUCIO, CRUCIO, CRUCIO!_ I CANNOT _BELIEVE_ HOW IDIOTIC MY SERVANTS CAN BE! DAMN THAT POTTER BRAT, HIS PARENTS, AND HIS PARENTS' PARENTS! CURSE ALL THOSE NAMED POTTER TO ROT IN THE DEEPEST DEPTHS OF HELL! EVEN NOW, AFTER HE IS BLOODY KISSED, HE IS _STILL_ AN EFFING THORN IN MY SIDE!"

And so the temper-tantrum continued for the next two hours.

---

Harry's mind fairly buzzed and reeled with new information, giving him a rather nasty headache. He groaned, unaware that he was surrounded by Dementors numbering in the thousands. He only outwardly noticed a slight chilliness to the night air, but groggily dismissed it as a lack of heat in the cell he was in.

He was just surfacing from the grasps of unconsciousness when he stiffened and let loose a hair-raising scream as his scar exploded. Foreign images flooded his already overloaded brain: visions of Voldemort standing before his assembled Death Eaters, face contorted with rage—Death Eaters convulsing on the floor while pitifully crying their apologies—a long snake winding about Voldemort's feet in clear agitation—Voldemort's temper tantrum as he cursed each and every one of Harry's ancestors, all the while throwing Cruciatus after Cruciatus at his ill-fated followers…

The assembly of Dementors immediately grew restless. The ritual had been about to commence when the boy began his screaming, his body stiffening and his back arching to a painful degree. They all screeched, indicating their alarm. The Dementor that brought Harry clicked back and initiated the ritual.

It was a haunting, unearthly ritual with chilling incantations that only the Dementors understood. In a series of complex movements and chants, the centre Dementor summoned a strange sort of wind energy that lifted Harry off the grass, leaving him hanging midair before the Dementor ritual performer. Another set of incantations brought forth that black smoke from the very earth they stood on, seeping upwards and enshrouding the still-shrieking human in an opaque cloud. There was a choked hiccup, then all went silent.

The Dementors waited.

The pale fog swirled ever thicker around the gathering; the wind grew cooler by degrees.

The Dementors waited.

And waited.

And waited.

At length, the smoke seemed to bubble upwards, creating a column of swirling blackness that was unaffected by the surrounding mistiness. Slowly it fell, dispelling from the top and pooling on the ground, still swirling about, revealing a young man that seemed suffused with a dark sort of light, bright enough to easily draw the eyes, but not overly so. He had his eyes closed and a serene expression, with tousled black hair and milk-white skin. He slowly opened his eyes to reveal nearly-glowing, _Avada Kedavra_-green irises.

---

Harry had felt as though his head was splitting open, so great was Voldemort's anger. His throat was hoarse and painful, yet he could not help the scream that erupted. His world was black as far as he could see as a surprising coolness enveloped him, causing him to hiccup as he sucked a breath into his oxygen-deprived lungs. The pain faded into the background as he felt something fundamental to his very _being_ shift and change. It did not hurt, it felt strange, it was an unwelcome change, it felt wrong-but-_right_. Harry could find no words to explain how he felt as he changed.

He felt empowered, he felt erudite, and he felt strangely alive. Peaceful. Ready. For what, he had no idea, but he knew he would work through whatever obstacles life threw at him as they came. It was then that he realized that he felt that way because his mind had finally assimilated all the memories from past lives that—he just _knew_—were from every soul that the Dementors had collectively taken. He had integrated these memories into his mind, and was now able to draw upon lifetimes of knowledge. _I know how to sword fight, sing with the proper technique, sneak soundlessly about, play croquet, drive a car, work as a waiter, and practice martial arts. This might come in handy…_ Harry mused.

Realizing that he was now somehow standing on his own two feet as opposed to lying down, Harry slowly opened his eyes, blinking them in disbelief at the sight that met him. Multitudes of Dementors stood before him, silent as usual, and seemingly waiting for something. Harry reached up to check his glasses, only to find that they were no longer there. Yet, he could see perfectly; actually he could see even better than he remembered in the dark. As he pondered this newest development, the Dementor that performed the ritual glided around to stand at his right side.

Harry was puzzled and more than a little afraid. _Why are they not affecting me? I don't hear the screams and the laughter anymore. I don't feel the cold as acutely, although I can tell that it is present_. "What has_ happened _to me?" he breathed, horrified, as he gazed at his deathly-pale hands accented by long black nails honed into claws.

"_You are one of us, my Liege,"_ the Dementor rattled as it seemingly expelled a breath. Harry watched in terrified fascination as it sunk into a graceful deep bow that was emulated by the entire Dementor audience assembled at Stonehenge. On this night, the moon illuminated the landscape not a gentle cream, but a clinical blue.

---

Five days had passed since Harry Potter's disappearance. The entire Wizarding world in Britain was in an uproar as they speculated what had become of their hero. Some claimed he had died in the Battle of Azkaban, as they now called the conflict. Others believed that he had inexplicably escaped, in presumably the same manner as the once-feared-but-now-dead fugitive Sirius Black. And yet others thought that he had been Kissed.

Hermione Granger sat in her room in Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, carefully arranging her belongings in her trunk. Sirius had now been… dead… for nearly two months. Since Harry's late Godfather had been the owner of the dwelling, his death meant that the House of Black was no longer a secure location to house the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. No one had any knowledge whether Sirius had changed his will—or even if he had a will to begin with. Regardless, Dumbledore and the others agreed that it was time to pack up and leave no clues behind concerning their stay and their mission in the event that the home came under the custody of one Bellatrix Black Lestrange.

A crash downstairs echoed in the hallways, promptly followed by the shrieking from the portrait of the late Mrs. Walburga Black, Sirius' mother.

"FILTHY MUDBLOODS AND BLOOD TRAITORS! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!" she roared.

Hermione rolled her eyes, guessing that Tonks had once again upset something with her clumsiness. She continued folding her clothes, listening to the Order members trying to pull the curtain, with rather loud curses, back over the enchanted portrait.

The young woman with long bushy hair sighed deeply as she set her clothes down. She wondered where Harry was, or even if he was alive. She could only hope for the best. Hermione held no illusions that Voldemort might have killed him by means other than the Killing Curse. She also knew that Harry could have been Kissed, considering the Dementors sided with You-Know-Who. She had often wondered what life would be like had she not been rescued by a certain Harry Potter and Ron Weasley in her First Year from the troll. If, under incredible circumstances she survived that terrifying night, how might her life have been different? She knew that it was useless to continue that train of thought because she knew in her heart of hearts, that she would not give up what she had for the world.

Hermione knew Harry had done many hair-brained things in his short lifespan, one of which included saving her life from that troll on Halloween. He had also, with the help of Ron and herself, gone to find the Philosopher's Stone and coming face-to-face—alone—with his parents' murderer, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He ventured alone into the Chamber of Secrets his Second Year and, with the aid of Professor Dumbledore's pet phoenix, Fawkes, and the Sorting Hat, had practically single-handedly killed both an ancient basilisk and a memory of sixteen-year-old Tom Marvolo Riddle, otherwise known as Lord Voldemort, in addition to rescuing Ginny Weasley. In his Third Year, he managed to conjure a Patronus in the form of Prongs, his father's Animagus stag form, to save his recently-found Godfather from a fate worse than death: the Kiss of a Dementor.

While in all of these episodes Harry had been a willing participant, the events in his Fourth Year were different. The Goblet of Fire had spat his name forth, ensuring that he would compete in the dangerous Triwizard Tournament, battling a Hungarian Horntail, fighting off various underwater creatures, making his way through a perilous maze filled with hazardous creatures, only to find himself Portkeyed, along with Cedric Diggory, to the graveyard of Voldemort's father. He watched Cedric die, watched Voldemort's rebirth, and managed to escape—only to fall into the hands of a Death Eater in disguise. It was Professor Dumbledore's timely arrival that kept Harry from being killed that night.

So many things had happened in his Fourth Year. But it was this past year, his Fifth Year, which sent Harry spiraling into depression at the end of it all. First, the Dementor attack right before the start of term in his supposedly "safe" home in Little Whinging. Then, that ghastly mockery of a professor, Dolores Umbridge. She seemed to live solely to inflict suffering upon Harry, what with using that thrice-cursed Blood Quill, banning him from Quidditch, and the formation of the Inquisitorial Squad. Hermione could not help but feel so proud of Harry for stepping up to substitute the poor Defense Against the Dark Arts classes with the formation of the DA—the Defense Association, better known in jest as Dumbledore's Army. Everything escalated into the fight at the Ministry of Magic in the Department of Mysteries—where a destroyed prophesy was kept—where Sirius died.

Hermione wished she had been able to stay with Harry and help him cope with his grief and guilt, but Professor Dumbledore was not to be swayed. Gripped by disbelief and shock, Harry had been shipped back to the wretched Dursley residence to work though his sorrow alone, allowing the pain and guilt to bubble and congeal into a deep, black melancholy that pained Hermione when he wrote back to her after the second week of summer, several weeks ago. And for that, Hermione Granger could never forgive Professor Dumbledore.

Now…

Now, Harry was missing; he was most likely dead. While Hermione could not squarely lay the blame on Albus Dumbledore, indirectly it was his decision that led up to Harry's incarceration in Azkaban and subsequent disappearance. Unwanted tears welled up in her eyes and she brusquely brushed them away.

_Fate always seemed to enjoy pulling Harry's strings. It's so unfair that he has to go through so much, and others can go on without ever once getting snagged in a perilous situation. What was the prophecy about anyhow, and why would You-Know-Who want it so badly?_

Hermione looked up into the sky with the strangely hued moon through her window. It cast a pale blue shade to all it touched. _Once in a blue moon,_ she mused, repeating the old phrase, _I wonder what extraordinary event is happening this night._

---

Had Hermione been there, she would have remarked, "You know, you might be able to catch a fly standing like that." As it were, Harry's mouth closed with an audible _snap_ and all he was able to do was to sputter, _"I—what—excuse me?"_

The Dementors rose as one. _"You are one of us, my Liege,"_ repeated the Dementor beside him.

Harry blinked in consternation. _"I can talk to you,"_ he rattled, brow furrowing. _"I'm a Dementor… How?"_

"_I—we—changed you. You reacted when we tried to take your soul. You fought back as few were able, and even managed to take from us. It is rare to find a human that can withstand having their souls taken. It is even rarer to find one that takes from us. The last person like you existed over a millennium ago."_

To say Harry was stunned was the understatement of time eternal. _"Over a millennium… ago?"_ he repeated weakly.

The Dementor nodded. _"There is something inside of you that keeps you from dying. It is something warm, something that we do not understand; we only feed off it to survive. It makes the humans smile, laugh, and cry. You have it in great abundance; so much, in fact, that it binds your soul to your body. From what we have learned and understood through the ages from our previous Overlords, this something is the result of selfless sacrifice by someone else to protect them."_

Harry's thoughts instantly focused on one person even as the Dementor's words seemed to echo those of another that he had seemingly heard so long ago: Albus Dumbledore's. _"My mother."_ Gazing up into the hooded blackness where a face would have been, Harry murmured, _"She protected me."_

The Dementor tilted its head downward in thought. _"So it is proven yet again."_

Harry mulled over the new information he had received. _"I am a Dementor now…"_ he rasped slowly.

"_Not quite, my Liege, not quite."_ When it saw Harry tilt his head with a confused countenance, it elaborated, _"You see, my Liege, we Dementors are neither dead nor alive. We simply come and go into existence. If there are enough human feelings to feed us, more of us emerge from the shadows and darkness. If there are not enough human feelings, we fade away from existence, rejoining the shadows. You, on the other hand, cannot do that. You cannot fade away if there are not enough human emotions. You do not need to. Rather, you have enough of that something within you to feed us at no injury to yourself."_

"_Oh…"_ Harry glanced down at himself, abruptly noticing the black smoke that continued to curl about his legs. _"Whoa!"_ Harry jumped in fright, noting absently that it followed him wherever he moved.

The Dementors let out a series of clicks that Harry understood to be their form of laughter. _"My Liege, that is a part of you as much as it is a part of us."_

"_What?"_ he screeched as he danced about, trying to detach himself from the smoke.

"_My Liege,"_ the Dementor, began with a hint of amusement in its tone, _"You are still different from us in that you are still human. While you can produce the same effects we do upon the other humans, you can to an extent control it, from what our past Overlords have done. You can will the blackness to fade, become invisible. However, you cannot control the coldness humans feel when we approach; this ability is intricately tied to your emotions. If you are in a content or happy phase, you will allow those around you to feel happy. It also allows us to feed without affecting the other humans; we simply draw from you alone. However, if you were to be unhappy or angry, you would radiate coldness like we do, only far more potent. It would reduce people to madness within moments. That is what we have observed. If you so wanted you could also Kiss humans and feast on their souls,"_ it added, cocking its head.

_This night can't get any better,_ Harry thought sarcastically, feeling a little green at the last tidbit of information. _I suppose I figure out what I can and can't do. No use walking about like the bleeding Ghost of Christmas Future… Hold up—Liege?_ Harry's train of thought ground to a halt with that word.

"_Wait, you called me your 'Liege?'"_ Harry asked.

The Dementor nodded again. _"That is correct. Did you not want us to?"_ the Dementor queried in slight puzzlement.

Harry's thoughts skittered away like startled ants. _"I… er…"_ was all he managed.

"_You do realize, my Liege, that the ritual used to change you granted sovereignty over us, your subjects?"_

Harry stared at the Dementor gormlessly. _"Er… I had no idea,"_ he replied honestly.

"_That is what we meant when we said we could feed off you at no injury to yourself,"_ the Dementor explained.

"_Now you tell me,"_ Harry grumbled darkly, earning several clicks of laughter from his audience.

"_It is time we finished the ritual,"_ the Dementor screeched, _"Unless you have any more questions, my Liege?"_

Harry dumbly shook his head in the negative.

"_Very well."_ The Dementor called forth and three of its peers came forth. They strode to a shadow cast by the towering blocks of rock. The first Dementor bent down, seemingly grasping the shadow and giving it a tug. From the darkness it drew forth a robe so black it seemed to absorb any and all light cast upon it. Unlike the robes the Dementors themselves wore, it was not ragged and torn. It appeared to be freshly pressed—for there were no wrinkles to be seen—and intricately embroidered.

The second Dementor reached down and produced an animated silver medallion attached to a delicately wrought silver chain. The medallion depicted an impression of a shorter, more distinguished-looking Dementor wielding a sword flanked protectively by Dementors.

The third Dementor retrieved a hooded cloak in the same manner. The cloak was of the same material as the robe with a small, animated silver clasp imitating the smoke on the chest near the neck.

The last Dementor brought forth a scabbard-encased sword decorated with carved silver and polished onyx on the scabbard and the hilt.

The first Dementor approached Harry and slid to stand behind him. With a gentleness Harry never believed they were capable of, the Dementor helped Harry slip the robe onto his small, lithe frame. Harry fingered the material, inspecting in awe the delicate needlework in silver thread. The cloth felt akin to the material of his father's invisibility cloak, but smoother, finer. The stitch work was incredible in its detail, working in geometric patterns around the hems and collars of the robe.

The second Dementor advanced with the necklace in hand. It carefully draped the chain around Harry's neck; the medallion rested against his sternum.

The third Dementor draped the cloak on Harry's shoulders with the same tenderness as before. The moving silver clasp fastened itself, securing the robe around Harry's shoulders and neck.

The last Dementor presented the sword to Harry, who took it and expertly fastened it to his hip.

The three Dementors from the audience returned to their places, and they collectively knelt into a bow once again. _"These items were worn by the first of our Overlords. May they serve you well, Lord Sovereign of Darkness,"_ intoned the ritual performer.

Harry knew that these items possessed magical properties. The cloak and the robe both had a number of magical and physical damage protection charms on them, as well as self-repairing and fitting charms. The cloak also had a nifty little spell that completely blacked out his face if the hood was worn.

The medallion possessed the ability to protect Harry from the effects of others' Patroni, while still allowing him to produce one himself should the need arise. His own would never be able to harm him. Harry sighed with relief. At least he knew he would still be able to see Prongs. It also protected him from an assortment of curses, hexes, and poisons, and greatly shortened his recuperation time from any injury.

The sword had charms to keep the blade from chipping and cracking; it had self-cleaning and self-sharpening charms as well. It also had a nasty little hex that allowed no one but the Lord Sovereign of Darkness to wield it. The hex, Harry knew, burned the user's hand and injected a lethal poison into the bloodstream. The antidote was a drop of the Lord Sovereign's blood onto the wound. The sword also provided Harry with a shield that was completely impenetrable should he be unconscious.

While Harry held the knowledge of thousands of souls, he did not know anything about the previous Lords. Somewhat apprehensive, Harry asked, _"What became of your previous Overlords, and how many were there?"_

The Dementor replied, _"They died. There have been only three before you. While the transformation makes them immortal and immensely more powerful, they still have human limitations. They all died of magical exhaustion, the first trying to bend humans to their will, and the other two trying to control the grief they felt at the loss of a human close to them. The two had driven themselves mad before they died."_

Harry gulped. _"So…"_ he ventured, _"It would be advisable to learn Occlumency, right?"_

"_If that is what you humans call 'shielding the mind and suppressing emotion,' then it will help greatly,"_ replied the Dementor.

"_Oh, goody,"_ Harry muttered. _"I need to look for another teacher. Someone far better than Snape,"_ he added with distaste.

Harry suddenly yawned. Blinking, he asked, _"Where do you all stay at? Don't you need rest?"_

More clicks of laughter sounded from the crowd. The Dementor standing next to Harry clicked in mirth itself. _"No, we have no need for rest. There is, however, the Fortress of Dark. It is located everywhere and nowhere; only Dementors and, now you, can travel there. You merely have to find a shadow to enter. It is a means of transportation and perhaps, storage if you so wish it, my Liege. It is how we are able to travel great distances. Some of us have Slipped from places such as America, Australia, India, Sudan, and China. Distances like those are too great to travel by Streaming—dissolving into the smoke and traveling in that manner."_

"_So how do you Slip?"_ asked Harry.

The Dementor motioned to a shadow. "_Will yourself to go somewhere. If you are so inclined, we can travel to the Fortress of Dark."_

"_Let us go then,"_ Harry replied.

The Dementor placed an emaciated hand on Harry's shoulder. They stood together in a shadow and Slipped.

---

Harry materialized in a darkly lit antechamber of enormous proportions. Polished onyx and obsidian met his eyes.

The Dementor swept its arm out. _"Welcome,"_ it rattled, _"To the Fortress of Dark."_

"_It's beautiful,"_ Harry murmured, studying the graceful, sweeping architecture, _"How old is this place?"_

"_It has been around for as we have been in existence,"_ was the reply. _"We cannot say with certainty."_

"_Ah."_ Harry roamed around the Fortress, noting that there were bedrooms, padded workout rooms equipped with various weapons, and great rooms. There were no kitchens or bathrooms. Harry asked why.

"_Here, we are not material, we are simply substance. Time stands still in these hallways. Once you exit the Fortress, time resumes its normal pace,"_ the Dementor explained.

"_Brilliant,"_ Harry breathed. _"I can do so much here!"_

The Dementor continued. _"Here, you will not feel anything physically. No pain, hunger, dirtiness, or—what was it humans said—the 'need to use the loo'?"_

Harry stifled a chuckle. _"I see."_

---

Another chapter done, my friends. I hope you enjoyed it and please, review. To my reviewer Echo, you must have read my mind! I will do my best to keep writing throughout the school year. College can be a little difficult at times. I believe I will not be doing any major 'ships in this story—if I do, it will not be the center point of the plot. I thank those of you who already reviewed. I am still looking for someone to help me with Briticisms and possibly beta.

-Tal.

---

Completed: 8.14.2006

Edited: 8.14.2006

Re-edited: 1.03.09

---


	5. Chapter IV: Sweet, Sweet Sixteen

Harry Potter characters do not belong to me but to J.K. Rowling.

---

In Terms of a Name

By Taliya

---

Chapter IV: Sweet, Sweet Sixteen

---

The Dementor continued. _"Here, you will not feel anything physically. No pain, hunger, dirtiness, or—what was it humans said—the 'need to use the loo'?"_

Harry stifled a chuckle. _"I see."_

---

Harry and his guide emerged from the Fortress of Dark. The congregated Dementors loitered about; the moon had not changed its position in the night sky. Yet Harry felt as though an hour, if not more, had passed while he was in the Fortress. They had toured the Fortress; Harry had even sparred with some enchanted dummies with his new sword. His arm ached with the exercise, yet he was proud of himself for his not-too-shabby ability to wield weaponry.

Harry tugged the sleeve of his guide and asked, _"How do I address you as a whole? Is there a name that I can call you all or is it just 'Dementors'?"_

The Dementor replied, _"We are, as we have said before, we come and go into existence. As such, we have a collective knowledge. What one Dementor learns, we all learn; there is no need to scout out a particular because you told them something. Therefore, just address us as you will."_

Harry nodded and turned to go.

"_My Liege,"_ it said as an afterthought, _"If you ever want time to actually pass while in the Fortress of Dark's dimension, you only need to head outside the Fortress. Time stands still within the Fortress' walls, but outside is a different story."_

"_What is outside the Fortress anyway? I only saw black out the windows,"_ Harry responded with curiosity.

"_It is the black void that we, as well as other black creatures, melt into when we fade out of existence. It is the shadow, darkness. You can manipulate it, control it to do your bidding. Even in this dimension you can will it to do your bidding. It is something that, had we not told you, you would have found out on your own,"_ it said.

Harry nodded again and walked over to the centre. Raising his hands, he addressed his audience. _"Dementors! I thank you for your attendance tonight, and I am in need of an answer to a question. I understand how to perform Occlumency and Legilimency, but I need a little prod in the right direction in how to do it. Is it possible for you to find me a tutor—preferably a Master in both arts?"_

A Dementor stepped forwards. _"Rest assured, my Liege, we shall find you a Master of the Mind Arts."_

As an afterthought, Harry added, _"As long as it is not Severus Snape or Albus Dumbledore."_

The Dementors bowed, basking in the feelings of contentment their Lord was exuding.

Harry looked over them with a strange sense of pride. _"You have all traveled from near and far to witness my transformation; it means much to me that you would do that. I thank you, and hope that this night's events do not create necessity for punishment when you return. For those of you under Voldemort's service, I would like you to keep tabs on him for me. He currently wishes for my death and I would like to be able to intervene in whatever plans he has. Thank you."_

Harry drew his cloak tighter about his lithe form and turned, walking out into the moors. _"Where are you going, my Liege?"_ one of the cloaked figures asked.

He paused and replied, _"Somewhere to be alone. I need some time to come to terms with what I've become."_ He began walking again before stopping. Turning, he faintly blushed before asking in a discomfited manner, _"How do you Stream?"_

---

Four o'clock in the morning found a young, black-haired youth swinging gently on the swing set in a local playground in Hyde Park. He was clad in a black set of robes and cloak, both of which were trimmed with elegant silver embroidery. His shoes lightly scuffed the trampled, dew-covered grass underfoot. Had there been any passersby, they would have remarked upon the boy's unusual glow he had about him.

Already Harry had figured out how to keep the black smoke from emanating from his form. It was a simple matter of will power that he mastered with ease. Currently he was trying to figure out how to keep from being illuminated with that dark, ethereal light. He did not want to be compared favorably to a glowworm.

He raised his hand from the chain links to see if the same will power strategy was working, only to stare at his changed hands. The black nails could only be described as claws; they were sharp, hard, and polished, gleaming softly with the moon's dying beams. Instantly his mind visualized his hand as he flung it out even though Remus held him back, desperately striving to reach Sirius' body disappeared behind the Veil…

Harry slammed his eyes shut, hoping the haunting images would fade before his mental eye. Harry knew that he would have to come to terms with Sirius' death—and he had to do it fast. He did not know how long he could keep the dam from bursting, giving way to torrents of grief, pain, and agony. Agitated, he stood up and began pacing.

_Calm down, _he mentally coached himself, _Talk out loud if need be. There's no one here to hear you._

"Okay," he muttered, "Think back to what happened and talk." He took a deep, fortifying breath, acutely aware of feeling like a crazy that needed to be immediately shipped off to Bedlam. "First off, Sirius—" he choked. "Sirius fell through the Veiled Arch trying to help me. He acted of his own volition coming here. Bellatrix shot the Stunner that sent him through the Arch, and Voldemort was the one that drew me out to the Ministry with those images. Although I failed to learn Occlumency and Dumbledore kept me in the dark about that _blasted_ prophecy, it was ultimately Voldemort… that was…"

Harry's pacing slowed to a halt as his heart pounded with dawning comprehension: _It was not my fault._

_It was not my fault._ The sentence repeated itself over and over in his mind like a mantra. _It was not my fault. It was not my fault._

His knees could no longer hold him up; they buckled and he collapsed into a heap. The barrier holding back his emotions broke, and he heaved a quiet, but heart-wrenching sob. The morning sun peered over the rooftops, reflecting the glistening tears that welled up in his closed eyes, squeezed between the black lashes, and slid gracefully down his cheeks.

Harry's distress unknowingly called several of his faithful to him. The seven Dementors that Streamed into Little Whinging encircled him protectively, absorbing the powerfully raw emotions exuding from their Lord. It would not do to have a city of insane humans—they could sense that he would deeply regret it if the event were to happen. So they stood uncomfortably, each wanting to give comfort in their own way but hesitant to do so. They did not know if their Lord would want them to act in such a manner. They discretely monitored the magical human that appeared in the park. The emotions coming off the human was conflicted—curiosity warred with hostility. It did not matter to the Dementors as long as the human did not harm their Lord.

Eventually the sobs abated, giving way to sniffles that also slowed to a stop. The Dementors peered down at their Lord, a mere child in their eyes, their postures portraying their concern.

"_Thank you,"_ Harry croaked, rubbing the vestiges of his tears with the backs of his hands.

"_We would do anything for you, my Liege,"_ a Dementor said, as they bowed as one.

"_I feel like such a crybaby,"_ Harry muttered, getting off the grass.

"_Do not feel to badly,"_ another Dementor gently chided, _"Humans have always had breakdowns when they are emotionally distraught. It is natural. We know through the souls of those we have taken."_

Harry gave them a wry smile before collapsing, drained from the transformation, and the emotional and mental stress. A Dementor broke formation, ducking down to catch the Boy-Who-Lived in its arms.

With an unspoken agreement, they clustered in the shadow of a nearby tree and Slipped.

---

"Foolish, idiotic imbeciles," the Dark Lord growled as he stepped over the bodies of Death Eaters that littered the great room floor. Nagini wisely remained silent as her Master fumed. "Why are all my followers doomed to be bloody morons?"

Voldemort entered the study and sat down in the armchair. Nagini silently slid off his shoulders and curled herself in a dark corner near the fireplace, her dark, beady eyes watching her human.

The Dark Lord closed his eyes in meditation. He would find the body and kill it. Enough with leaving it alive for his own pleasure. In his mind, he located the string of energy that connected himself to the body. He began traveling along it, eager to locate the living corpse.

As he traveled along the connection, he felt the coldness associated with a Dementor. He pushed himself farther along until he could no longer go any further; the worst memory he had flashed before his mind's eye.

_He cackled happily as Lily Potter fell to the floor, dead. Turning his attention to the small babe wrapped in a blanket, he flicked his wand at the infant as he murmured the incantation for the Killing Curse._

_His eyes widened in shock as the curse rebounded off the child and struck him. Voldemort silently screamed in fear, agony, and anger as his soul was forcefully and painfully ejected from his body, leaving him as nothing more than the faintest wraith._

_As he escaped the small home in Godric's Hollow, he left behind his own corpse and the squalling, lightning-bolt-scarred one-year-old, Harry James Potter…_

The memory hit him like several tons of bricks, causing the Dark Lord to beat a hasty retreat from the other's supposed mind. Voldemort reacted physically to his fear by nearly biting through his lower lip in his attempt to keep from screaming aloud, as well as digging his fingers into his armrests.

He gasped as he opened his eyes. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead. He distantly felt pain in his hands and his lip. Tentatively, he touched his tongue to his lip, quickly pulling away when he felt the intense sting. Looking down, he noted how there was blood dribbling down his front and his fingers were buried up to the first knuckle in the wood beneath with blood oozing from the newly-created holes. Clenching his teeth, he wrenched his hands free and studied them. His fingers were covered with splinters both large and small, causing them to look cactus-like in appearance.

Voldemort snarled as he thought of why he had relived his worst memory as he traveled along the connection. He came to two conclusions when he could not find answers:

1.) People normally did not have these sort of curse connections; and

2.) What did Kissed people feel anyhow?

Voldemort held back a frustrated growl to keep from aggravating his lip. He could not speak, nor could he hold a wand. How was he to appear before his servants looking like this?

He sighed. And his day had been going _so_ well, too…

---

When he strode quickly down the hallways with his black cloak billowing out behind him, he indeed looked quite menacing. However, at three in the morning with him limping painfully instead of striding, he looked more pathetic than menacing. Severus Snape leaned against a wall in a corridor, muscles convulsing periodically and out of breath. He had awoken not too long ago on the floor of Riddle Manor, scattered with all of his colleagues. Beads of perspiration peppered his brow and upper lip, and his robes stuck wetly to his body. The distinctive Death Eater mask was tucked in the hood of his robes.

He eyed the small distance he needed to cross to reach the gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster's office. Rallying his failing strength, he shakily made his way there. Pressing himself against the wall next to the statue, he whispered, "Exploding bon-bons."

The sculpture jumped to the side, allowing the injured man passage. He stepped onto the moving stairwell, clutching his sides as the stairs spiraled upwards and finally deposited him outside the door to the Headmaster's office.

He slumped against the door, weak, dizzy, and throbbing all over. Said door immediately opened, and the Potions Master stumbled into Albus Dumbledore's careful arms. The elderly man stooped to fling Snape's arm over his aged shoulders, supporting the younger man as he slowly led the younger man into a transfigured puffy red recliner.

Once Albus was sure that Severus would not fall out of said chair, he swiftly plucked a vial from a side cabinet and pressed the glass container into the Death Eater spy's quivering hands. The younger man downed the swirling blue contents of the vial in one swallow. The relief was evident on his face as the phantom pain eased and faded away.

"Thank you, Albus," the younger said, setting the vial on the desk with steady hands.

"How are you now, Severus my boy?" Dumbledore asked, concern in his usually twinkling eyes.

The spy's obsidian eyes darkened even more. "He was extremely incensed. Those bumbling fools that call themselves Death Eaters have lost Potter's body," he dutifully reported, lips curling at the mention of the boy. "He inflicted the Cruciatus on each and every one of us. From what I remember when I woke up, all of us were passed out on the floor of the great room. He was gone."

"Thank you, Severus." Albus' brow furrowed as he mulled over his informant's words. _They lost Harry's body,_ he thought hollowly, _The bloody idiots lost a soulless body!_ He paced behind his desk, stopping once to stroke his phoenix's warm, crimson head. Fawkes trilled softly in contentment and continued his preening.

Severus excused himself and exited the office, Albus' worried gaze following the man out the door and down the stairs. He sighed heavily as he sank into his seat behind his desk. Producing his wand from a pocket, he mumbled the incantation for the Locator Charm: "_Locus_ Harry Potter." He watched in consternation as his wand began to spin in erratically, pointing in all directions. _What the devil?_ He watched his wand jump about for a little more before muttering, "_Finite incantatem_."

_He can't possibly be dead; the spell would have pointed to his body location. A firecall to the Ministry can't hurt right now; I need to inform someone in the Order,_ Albus reasoned as he knelt by his fireplace. Taking a pinch of light green powder, he threw it into the fire, waiting until the flames changed to a deep emerald. "Kingsley Shacklebolt, Auror Headquarters, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Ministry of Magic," he intoned as he poked his head into the blaze.

Had it been a less serious situation, Albus would have hummed off-tune Muggle tunes as his head spun through the extensive Floo system. His face appeared in the fireplace belonging to an Auror by the name of Kingsley Shacklebolt. Said man was currently sitting at his desk, a respectable stack of papers neatly sitting on his work surface. The quill in the man's hand wavered as he scribbled down report after report. The escape of the Boy-Who-Lived, however convicted, as well as the Battle of Azkaban, as it was now called, had created loads of work for the Ministry.

Albus gently cleared his throat, startling the Auror from his paperwork. "Albus," Kingsley greeted, stretching out his back. "What brings you to firecall me at—" he glanced at the clock, "—three-forty-six in the bloody morning?"

"Kingsley," Dumbledore began, "Would you mind performing a Locator Charm on Mr. Potter?"

"Of course, Albus," Kingsley said as he drew his own wand. Muttering the incantation, he, too, watched in puzzlement as his wand spun about unpredictably.

"Any ideas?" the Headmaster asked the Auror. "Even an Unplottable area still yields a general direction. If he were dead, though I dearly hope that is not the case, it would simply point to his body. I suppose a visit to Little Whinging would be necessary to find any clues left behind. Since you were here, and Tonks is currently out on Order business, I was hoping you would be able to. However," here the headmaster eyed the new papers that settled themselves on the top of the stack after unfolding themselves from paper airplanes, "I think it would be prudent to leave you to your work."

Kingsley sighed. "I was _not_ hired to do paperwork," the Auror grumbled.

The Headmaster chuckled. "Try being the Headmaster of Hogwarts; then come complain to me," he joked.

The Auror snorted wryly. "I'll pass, thanks."

"Have a good morning, Kingsley," Albus said before his face disappeared from the emerald flames with a _pop_.

Kingsley watched as the fire changed itself back to the normal orange and yellow hues. Groaning, he returned to the ever-increasing paperwork. _Cursed bureaucracy,_ he thought darkly.

He worked continuously on the papers for several more hours, stopping only as the imitation sunlight began to stream through his "window." The Auror groaned as the stretched. Rubbing his eyes, he glanced at the clock as he headed out to nab a cup of hot, black coffee. Seven-twenty-bleeding-three ante meridian.

---

Albus rubbed the small of his back and he stood up. _This body isn't what it used to be,_ he thought wistfully. Fawkes watched as his companion shuffled to his bedroom and emerged wearing a navy blue cloak that clashed horribly with his cerulean pajama set sprinkled with yellow animated shooting stars and winking moons. Nodding at his familiar, Dumbledore exited the office and made his way outside of the anti-apparition wards of Hogwarts.

An elderly man appeared with a small _pop_ in a well-known Wizarding location known as Diagon Alley. His blue eyes roamed over the deserted walkway and closed shops; satisfied that he was not seen, he exited into the small alleyway and the Leaky Cauldron, an old pub that bridged the Wizarding world and the Muggle world. Charing Cross Road was silent and empty, lit with the orange-colored incandescent lights from the street lamps. Pulling the silver Put-Outer from his robe pocket, he flicked the cap open and, one by one, extinguished the street lamps.

Striding out into the middle of the road, he muttered the Locator Charm and was amazed to find that it pointed in a steady direction west of where he stood. Taking a guess at where Harry possibly was located, he apparated to the intersection of Park Lane and Oxford Street, Dumbledore shivered; the cold was undeniably that of a Dementor's. His mind drifted to the night he left baby Harry on the Dursleys' doorstep, a deep-seated guilt and sadness swelling out from his heart.

Shaking his head, he produced his wand and muttered, "_Locus_ Harry Potter." His wand pivoted to yield a westerly direction. Deciding to relocate to the western edge of the park, he apparated there and nearly fainted against a nearby tree, so strong was the Dementors' presence. He had half a mind to produce a Patronus and direct it at the small gathering of Dementors, but it warred with curiosity—they were not about terrorizing the neighborhood of Muggles; rather, they were huddled in a circle, seemingly worrying over whatever was within their ranks. A soft sobbing could be heard from their general direction. Albus watched in horrified fascination as they looked at each other indecisively, as though they had higher mental faculties than previously believed. Maybe they did?

An eternity seemed to pass before the sobs began to slow, and finally stopped. By now the sun was brushing the tops of the trees with its light gold rays, casting long shadows over the park grounds. The eerie rattling of their breaths could be heard as they seemed to communicate with one another. One of them suddenly broke formation and ducked into the centre of the circle, rising with a bundle in its skeletal arms. The aged Headmaster hurriedly stood in attempt to see what the bundle was only to be assaulted with extreme vertigo. Despite the nausea and dizziness, he watched as they crowded in a tree's shadow and melted into the darkness.

Albus blinked and promptly slumped back down against the tree, mind sputtering incoherently. He sat for approximately half an hour, standing up only when he realized he had no sensation in his rump. Mothers with young children were now coming into the park, cradling infants while admonishing their toddlers for their impatience. Dumbledore situated himself on a park bench and propped his elbows on his knees, covering his face with his hands while still holding his wand. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply.

"Are you Merlin?"

Albus glanced up in surprise at the question and met the inquisitive hazel eyes of a four-year-old boy with sandy-blond hair. They stared at each other for a moment before Albus gathered his wits about him and replied with a grandfatherly smile. "No, dear boy, I am not Merlin."

"Oh…" The boy stepped back, abashed and disappointed. "You look like him…" he murmured softly to himself.

"My name is Albus Dumbledore," the Headmaster said, gesturing grandly at himself. "Might I inquire as to the name of the young man before me?"

The boy's face brightened at the "adult-like" treatment he was receiving. "My name's Anthony Reed. I'm four years old." He puffed his chest out with obvious pride.

"My, my, that's an exciting age to be," remarked Dumbledore as they shook hands. "May I ask why you thought I was Merlin?"

"Well… you have a long white beard, glasses, the same clothes as he does, and a stick—although his is bigger than yours," Anthony explained as if it were the most logical reason.

"Where did you see Merlin?" Dumbledore asked, genuinely curious.

"From the Disney movie _The Sword in the Stone_," he answered in that childish _are-you-stupid?_ sort of look.

_Ah, a Muggle motion picture._ "I see," Dumbledore said happily.

"Anthony!" Both boy and man looked up to see a young woman with a baby girl propped on her hip approach. She frowned at Anthony before turning to Dumbledore. "I'm so sorry, sir, that my little boy disturbed you," she started.

"Quite the contrary, madam, he did not disturb this old man's musings. Albus Dumbledore, a pleasure to meet you," he stated cordially as he stood and held out his hand.

The woman flushed before replying, "Cecilia Reed. I take it you've met Anthony," she said as she glanced at a subdued Anthony. "And my little girl is Adrienne."

"Beautiful children you have, Mrs. Reed."

"Thank you. Anthony, you should apologize to Mr. Dumbledore for disturbing him," she reprimanded.

Seeing as how she was not to be swayed, Albus wisely remained silent as Anthony stumbled through his apology. He told mother and child that there was no harm done, and bid them both a wonderful day. After leaving the small family, the friendly smile immediately melted away into a frown. Slipping behind a grove of trees, he disappeared with a small _pop_.

He trekked back to Hogwarts after disapparating just outside the anti-apparition wards, mulling over his own thoughts. Entering his office, he retrieved his pensieve from its cabinet, removed the memory of this morning in the park, and plunged headfirst into it.

---

Harry perched himself atop the one of the twin rooftops of the Tower Bridge of London, legs dangling off a side as he enjoyed the morning sunlight and slight breeze. It gently ruffled his hair with caressing fingers. He imagined this would be how his mother's fingers felt—tender and soothing. He briefly wondered how Hedwig was fairing, wondering if she made it to Hogwarts safely. He lazily watched the steadily increasing flow of traffic as the morning commute continued.

A tinny tapping and flapping of wings startled Harry, who swiveled around to find a stately dust-brown owl settled next to him, its leg outstretched for him to take the parchment. He accepted the parchment and unrolled it. It read:

_July 24__th__, 1996_

_Dear Mr. Harry James Potter,_

_You are cordially invited to the reading of the Last Will and Testament of one Sirius Black on July thirty-first at two o'clock, post meridian. We await your confirmation owl._

_Sincerely,_

_Groblink_

_Branch Manager of Gringotts, Great Britain_

Harry blinked at the letter. Why had he not received this letter before? Did the goblins not know that Sirius had died that night in the Department of Mysteries? He looked at the owl, which was still waiting for his reply.

"Er… I'm sorry, but I don't have a quill or parchment to reply…" He felt foolish talking to the bird. It was fine with Hedwig; his familiar knew him well enough and vice versa so that they could communicate in a way. An idea wormed its way into his mind. Could he get one of the Dementors to bring him a quill and parchment? _No,_ he decided, _That is petty and a waste of their time and effort._ He thought about how he could get his hands on the writing utensils when they conjured themselves out of a small puff of black smoke.

Harry started at the sudden appearance of the harmless quill and several pieces of parchment before hesitantly taking them and writing his response:

_Dear Groblink,_

_I will attend the reading of the Last Will and Testament of Sirius Black._

_Thank you,_

_Harry Potter_

He rolled the parchment up and handed it to the owl. The avian took it in its peak and took to the skies with a mighty flap of its powerful, silent wings.

Harry's brow furrowed as he thought of the date. What was the date anyway? The time spent in Azkaban, Voldemort's keep, and the Fortress of Dark had left him a tad bit disoriented. _Dementors?_ He called out mentally.

_What can we do for you, my Liege?_ they responded in chorus.

_Er… what is today's date?_

_Time is irrelevant to us. We cannot tell you. We are sorry that we cannot be of any help to you,_ they replied apologetically.

_It's fine,_ Harry replied, _Thank you._

"Oh!" he exclaimed as he lightly smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand, "I just need to look at a newspaper! Now how to get down without scaring the daylights out of people…" he mumbled.

He Slipped out of a small alleyway not too far from the Leaky Cauldron; he pulled the hood of his cloak over his head, hiding his face in the darkest of shadows. The patrons of the pub, as well as Tom the bartender, glanced up at the newcomer and eyed the hooded stranger with wariness. Glancing over the shoulder of an oblivious wizard who was reading the _Daily Prophet_, he caught the date. It read: Wednesday, July 31, 1996.

_It's today? Well, happy sixteenth birthday to me, I suppose. I guess I should head over to Gringotts anyhow. I wonder what happened to the vault my parents left to me?_ That decided, he strode out into the back where the brick wall stood. It was then that he realized he had no wand to open the portal to the Wizarding world. _Bollocks! Now how am I going to get to Gringotts?_ He pounded the brick that opened the passageway with the fleshy side of his fist, wishing longingly that it would open.

He jumped back, barely suppressing a yell when the bricks began to rearrange themselves, allowing him to pass through. _How the blazes did I do that?_ he thought, befuddled, as he hesitantly stepped through the archway, half-afraid it would close on him. Ducking about the crowd, he managed to get to Gringotts with no incident—merely the weight of many stares and lots of people backing away from him. Stepping up before an open goblin teller, he patiently waited for the teller to notice him.

"May I help you?" the goblin asked in a curt manner.

"I would like to access the state of my vault, please," Harry answered politely and quietly.

"Key?"

"Er… I am a recently convicted felon, and all my possessions have been taken, my key included. Is there anything I can do?" the young Dementor Lord asked.

The goblin stared at Harry long and hard, evaluating the stranger who had power rolling off him in waves before coming to a decision. "Linkflail!"

A swarthy, short goblin scurried up to the teller counter.

"Please take this young man to see Groblink."

"Follow me," Linkflail commanded brusquely. Harry dutifully followed, cloak billowing ominously, the goblin through a maze-like network of tunnels, finally reaching a set of ornate double doors. "Inside these doors awaits Groblink," he said.

"Thank you, Linkflail," Harry said, nodding his head. "I appreciate it."

The goblin blinked at the gratitude. "You are welcome, sir," he replied somewhat uncertainly before leaving Harry alone in the cavernous hallway.

Taking a deep breath, he strived to project an air of confidence that he most certainly did not feel. He knocked on a door and waited for the grunted, "Enter," before opening the door to allow himself entry. Harry seemingly glided across the floor towards the opulent desk where the goblin was seated, perched on a fog of swirling black smoke that he had unknowingly allowed to be seen. The confidence he strived to project created a sense of deep coldness that was resembled a hint of what a Dementor's presence felt like. Overall, he gave off the vibes of being a mysterious, powerful someone that was _not_ to be trifled with.

The goblin cleared his throat as he shifted uneasily on his chair. "What may I do for you today, Mr.…?" he trailed off once he realized he had no idea who this human was.

"Potter. Harry Potter," Harry replied as he slid the hood back to reveal his face. He nodded his head respectfully. "I'm a little early."

"Indeed you are early for the will reading, Mr. Potter. However, I have been informed that you are here for different reasons," Groblink remarked as he leaned back into his seat. He gestured for Harry to sit in one of the seats opposite the desk. Harry sat down with a gracefulness that a swan would have envied.

"I'm here to inquire about the vault that my parents left to me. However, I was recently convicted of manslaughter and had my possessions, key included, confiscated," Harry explained. "It seems likely that the Ministry would want to freeze and then repossess all my assets."

The goblin nodded and snapped his clawed fingers. A dusty tome appeared before the being and settled gently on the desk. Groblink leafed through the book, stopping to read the contents about two-thirds into the book. "Ah, yes," he remarked after a length of time, "The Ministry has frozen all your assets and is currently in the process of claiming them. However, as you are underage, you were under the guardianship of Sirius Black, and now, it seems, Albus Dumbledore. He has managed your account, monitoring your spending and deposits, and, in your brief absence, fighting the Ministry to keep it for you."

While Harry was immensely grateful that Dumbledore was doing what he could to keep his money out of the Ministry's greedy paws, he could not help but feel irritated that the old man was monitoring his spending habits.

"There is also," the goblin continued, breaking Harry out of his train of thought, "The Potter Family Vault. It was willed to you by your parents for your personal disposal once you come of age. Until then, your legal guardian was supposed to manage your accounts. However, since your legal guardian is now deceased, you are able to claim your inheritance. Would you like to pay a visit the Potter Vault? We may deal with your lack of a key with the correct… persuasion." Groblink grinned, showing the neat rows of pointed teeth.

Harry grinned himself. "I would like that very much." The boy trailed after the goblin into a miner's cart. One crazy roller coaster-like ride later, they arrived at a small flat platform with a large, polished iron-wrought door protruding from the rock face. The door had a single adornment: The Potters, in regal, capital letters embellished with a small amount of twining ivy. Harry was drawn to the door; he reached out and stroked the door along the middle, where the two individual doors opened. He shivered as he felt ancient magic flow through him, analyzing and exploring his magical core, his entire being. The magic receded, and the iron doors quivered and opened.

"It is good that you are indeed the heir of the Potter line," commented Groblink.

Harry swiveled around to gaze at the goblin, a dark expression on his face. "Why?"

The goblin sneered. "Had you not been, you would have been sucked into the door up to your elbow and paralyzed. Any magic you performed would fail and increase the sensitivity of your nerves. The vault door would send an alarm, and a security dragon would come to see who was unfortunate enough to attempt a theft. Needless to say, the thief doesn't survive the encounter."

Harry smirked. "I like that a lot." Turning, he strode into the cavernous vault of the Potter Family. Piles of Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts met his eyes, along with jewelry, assorted crowns and coronets, shelves of books, weaponry, furniture, portraits, and an assortment of other objects. In the centre of the yawning vault stood a small pedestal with a single transparent levitating orb. Harry was once again drawn to the orb. He reached out and touched the surface, his thoughts idly wondering how much the Potter Vault contained monetarily. The surface of the orb rippled and in electric blue letters that scrolled across the surface, it spelled out how much money the Potter Vault contained.

_Approximately twenty-four million Galleons, four-hundred-eighty million Sickles, and thirty-six hundred million Knuts._

Harry's jaw dropped. He practically owned that much money? Never had he dreamed that he would be the inheritor of so much!

Apparently he stood there, mouth agape for a while like an idiot, because behind him, Groblink cleared his throat. Harry spun quickly, snapping his jaw shut with an audible _click_ as he did so. "Would you like to try on the Potter signet ring? It is here on this cushion," he said as he gestured to his left.

A gold ring lay on a crimson velvet, gold embroidered cushion. There was a ruby embedded in the center with the Potter crest imprinted upon it in gold. Next to it was a folded note. Harry picked the note up and read it.

_Our Dearest Harry,_

_If you are reading this, it means that we, your mother and father, are no longer of this plane of life. We never meant to leave you so early in life, and we are truly sorry. We love you very much, Harry, and hope that you are happy, healthy, and loved. Have fun, stay safe, and live life the best you can. We are always with you, Harry; never forget that. We are both very proud of you, we miss you, and most of all, we love you so very much._

_Love,_

_Lily and James Potter_

His eyes welled with unshed tears that he refused to let fall as he finished the letter. He folded the letter reverently and placed it in his robe pocket. He then picked up the ring and slid it onto his right ring finger. It tingled and pulsed with magic as it ascertained that he was, indeed, the heir of the Potter line before it stopped tingling and left a warm feeling. Harry felt an influx of power as the ring granted him Lordship of the Potter Family.

A ghostly apparition appeared before Harry, bowed and said in an echoing tone, "Greetings, Lord Potter."

Harry did a double take. "_Dad?_"

---

So ends another chapter. I hope you enjoyed it and please, review. I'm so sorry this took so long; I finished it while at home, came to college, and realized I hadn't saved it in my email. Thusly, I had to retype the entire damned thing. My apologies to you all for the wait, and thank you so very much for your patience!

-Tal.

---

Completed: 9.15.2006

Edited: 9.15.2006

Re-edited: 1.3.09

---


	6. Chapter V: Understanding the Now

Harry Potter characters do not belong to me but to J.K. Rowling.

---

In Terms of a Name

By Taliya

---

Chapter V: Understanding the Now

---

A ghostly apparition appeared before Harry, bowed and said in an echoing tone, "Greetings, Lord Potter."

Harry did a double take. "_Dad?_"

---

The apparition of James Potter blinked. "Have we met before?"

Harry sucked in a breath. "Yes," he replied softly, "We have, although I don't remember it. Fifteen years ago."

James cocked his head quizzically. "When was that?"

"When I was one year old," Harry replied, his voice wavering. "Hello, Dad."

"_Harry?_" James breathed, "Is it really you?"

Harry gazed at his father, memorizing every line of his face, every nuance of his voice. It was all he could do to swallow thickly and nod.

James inhaled deeply and managed a sorrowful smile. "Hello, kiddo. You've—you've grown so much I hardly recognized you. But, seeing you now, how could I forget your mother's eyes when you have them?"

"Where's Mum?" Harry asked, his heart pounding. Could he meet his mother this way too?

Harry's cautious eagerness must have shone in his eyes, for the desolate smile on his father's face faded. "Your mother was not asked to make a record of herself like I was. I recorded myself to greet the new Lord Potter, just as my forefathers did before me in case we died beforehand, updating the recordings as needed. I never thought I—we—would not live to see our son grow up…" The replica of James reached out to cup Harry's cheek, only have his hand drift through his son's jaw. Harry did not even feel it.

Pearlescent tears gathered in the corners of James' eyes as he watched Harry duck his head. Harry's hands, hidden in the sleeves of his robes, were clenched hard enough that the claw-like fingernails he possessed speared themselves through his palm. Drops of vermillion painted the rock floor. His entire frame shook with emotion.

Groblink waited uneasily for an opening to excuse himself. Finding it, he hastily wrote Harry a note instructing him how to signal for goblin assistance or signal for a cart to leave. He then left, the vault doors sliding shut with a soft _thump_.

"Harry?" James whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. "Harry, son, look at me."

Harry raised his head to meet the teary eyes of his father.

"You've grown so much," he murmured softly, stretching out his hand to touch his son's face, yet withdrawing it at the last moment, realizing how utterly painful it was to be intangible. "I—" he choked, "I'm sorry."

Harry drew in a shaky breath. "Sorry for what?"

"For leaving you as early as I did. For _abandoning_ you." He paused, visibly gathering courage for what he wanted to say next. "How did we die, Lily and I?" he asked quietly, apprehension rolling off of him.

The Boy-Who-Lived swallowed thickly, his jaw clenching with the suppressed emotions. "Voldemort… he came to Godric's Hollow on the Halloween when I was a year old. Wormtail had betrayed your location to him. He was a supporter of Voldemort. You tried… you tried to fend him off as Mum hid me. He found her and… and…"

Seeing the distress written across his son's face, James hushed Harry gently, telling him that it was all right; he did not have to finish narrating the tale. To distract themselves, James began to explain what it meant to be Lord Potter. In addition to the financial aspects, there were also the three separate estates the Potters owned, scattered across Great Britain: Manchester, England, Aberdeen, Scotland, and Cardiff, Wales, plus the one vacation estate they owned in Florence, Italy. James also told Harry how to make his ring invisible if he did not want to display it, since he could no longer take it off. Harry strolled about the vault as James tagged along, explaining the significance of whatever happened to catch his son's eye.

As Harry reached out to pluck a sword off its rest, a soft chime sounded. Turning towards the sound, a phantom ribbon slithered from nowhere and began curling itself into a message.

_It is fifteen minutes to the hour. Please meet Groblink to be escorted to the hearing of the Last Will and Testament of Sirius Black._

James' already pallid complexion paled even more upon reading the message. "Sirius is… is… dead?"

Harry nodded glumly. "Yes, Sirius is dead."

The statement was so final, so detached, that Harry could not help but wince at the cold truth of it. James looked as though he had been hit sidelong with the Hogwarts Express. "No… he can't have died…"

Harry looked at his father with guilt and remorse written plainly on his face. "Sirius died because of me," he whispered, his heart clenching painfully with the admission. "He came after me to rescue me. It's all my fault!"

James sidled up as close as he could to Harry without touching him, bending awkwardly to look into his son's face. "Harry, if Sirius came after you with the intention of rescuing you, then it is by no means your fault! He was your godfather, and as such, he felt it was his duty to protect you. Don't blame yourself!"

Harry looked into his father's eyes, seeing the deep, raw pain resulting from seeing his grown son and hearing that one of his best friends was dead.

Taking a steadying breath, James closed his eyes and remarked shakily, "You better go, Harry. You don't want to be late." He opened his eyes, drinking in the image of his now sixteen-year-old son. "Go," he verbally nudged.

Harry nodded. "I'll be back," he promised. "I'll be back to t-tell you more of what happened. You deserve to know."

James gave a ghost of a smile. "Go."

Harry left.

"That's my boy." The statement rang softly in the cavernous vault.

---

He was finally his complete, wholesome self again, and pleased. Nagini had summoned Wormtail, who then spent over two hours painstakingly plucking each and every splinter in the Dark Lord's fingers. After several healing spells, Wormtail was warned, under pain of death, to never mention the situation to anyone. Wormtail had readily agreed, and scurried out the room as soon as he was dismissed.

Glancing at the clock that sat on the mantelpiece, he noted that it read four twenty-six in the morning. His blasted Death Eaters had taken hours to awaken, and only then was Nagini able to rope Wormtail into repairing his body. The idea that he should ease off on his faithful momentarily flitted through his mind. He quickly dismissed the idea. After all, how could he be a feared Dark Lord if he was soft on his followers?

Voldemort stared into the fire. Fire destroyed, burned, killed. He watched the tongues of flame, his mind conjuring multiple ways of crippling his opposition: namely, Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter. The Dementors were already a great asset to him. He had recently garnered the support of the giants and the werewolves. He could call up any number of Inferi that suited his needs as well. He grinned darkly. Already it seemed as though he had sheer strength in numbers. He allowed his mind to drift off with several possibilities of raids, sieges, ambushes, and massacres, all the while gazing into the crackling fire.

---

Harry rode the cart back to the Gringotts lobby by himself after carefully reading the instructions on how to get back. He did not dare try Slipping or Streaming—he was unsure of how the wards here in Gringotts would react to such transportation. Pulling his hood back over his head, he entered the lobby and strode swiftly to Groblink's office. The goblin was waiting expectantly, and nodded upon his entrance. "Shall I announce your presence to the assembled?" he asked.

"I'd much rather you not," Harry replied, thinking of who might be already gathered. "Please, if there are introductions to be made, I'd like to be introduced as a representative of Lord Potter; not as Lord Potter himself—I'd rather not have everyone know that I've just received my inheritance. On a different note, could it be made so that no one is aware of my account activities?" _It is,_ he continued in his mind, _a breach of privacy._

"But of course, sir," the goblin said. "I will personally see to it and seek out who allowed such a breach to happen." Groblink frowned to himself. "Also, there is another vault that you seem to have recently inherited as well. Please see me about that some time," the goblin said as he led Harry through a set of double doors, opening to a room with a long, rectangular table. Seated about the table were Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Remus Lupin, Narcissa Malfoy and her son, Draco Malfoy, Nymphadora Tonks, affectionately known as plain "Tonks", and a stately woman that resembled Tonks. Harry guessed that the woman was Andromeda, Sirius' disowned cousin. Today Tonks sported a periwinkle bob.

Harry swept in behind Groblink, face obscured and clothed in embroidered black robes that screamed of wealth. Hermione, Ron, Remus, Tonks, and Andromeda shifted uneasily upon his entrance, while Narcissa and Draco looked at him curiously.

"Who are you?" Ron asked brazenly, his voice tinged with animosity.

_Oh, no, they will recognize my voice! I wish I could change it!_ Harry thought, panicky, unconsciously fingering his sword. Taking a chance he replied, "A representative of Lord Potter."

Harry was both surprised and immensely relieved that somehow he _had_ managed to change his voice from a light tenor to a rich baritone.

"Potter? Would you, by any chance, know where Harry Potter is?" Hermione asked quickly, hope blossoming on her face. Remus and Ron, too, had looks identical to Hermione's. The expression made Harry's own brows furrow as he frowned. _They can't know who or what I am just yet._

"Potter? Coming here? Ha! What would _he_ get from Black?" sneered Draco, "He's not related at all to the Black family!"

Before Ron could make a reply, Groblink cleared his throat. "We are gathered here to read the Last Will and Testament of Sirius Black," he announced. Harry settled himself in a shadowy corner of the room. Placing a carved black box on the table, the goblin opened the lid and stood back. An apparition, much like the one of James, wafted upwards. Sirius fully emerged from the box, a roll of parchment in his hand.

Sirius gazed at the gathered people, assessing them. "So I've upped and kicked the bucket, eh?" he quipped. "Would've happened sooner or later. Anyway, you are all here to see what I'll dole out to each of you. So here goes!"

Unrolling the parchment, he began reading:

"_I, Sirius Black, of sound body and mind, dictate this will and testament valid in the administrative area of Greater London, England._

"_I hereby give and bequeath, to Hermione Granger and her family, the total sum of five-thousand Galleons._

"_I hereby give and bequeath, to Ronald Weasley and his family, the total sum of five-thousand Galleons._

"_I hereby give and bequeath, to my good friend Remus Lupin, the northern estate in Edinburgh, Scotland, plus one quarter of the total Black fortune, equivalent to approximately eight million Galleons._

'_I hereby give and bequeath, to my favorite cousin Andromeda Tonks, her daughter, Nymphadora Tonks, and their family the summer estate in Leeds, England, plus one quarter of the total Black fortune, equivalent to approximately eight million Galleons._

"_I hereby give and bequeath, to my cousin Narcissa Malfoy, her son, Draco Malfoy, and their family, the total sum of _nothing_, which equals a nice, round goose egg._

"_And lastly, I hereby give and bequeath, to my Godson Harry James Potter, the Most Ancient House of Black's residency in London, England, and all its possessions herein, plus the three other estates in Gloucester, England, Birmingham, England, and Paris, France, and the remaining half of the Black fortune, equivalent to approximately sixteen million Galleons._

"_The actual total sums can be procured upon request from Great Britain Gringotts Branch Manager, Groblink._

"_Signed by Sirius Black, heir of the Black family this second of September, 1995 Anno Domini."_

The apparition of Sirius rolled up the parchment and drifted back into the carved black box. Groblink gently closed the lid.

Harry privately wondered when and how Sirius had managed to change his will, considering at the time—and even now—he was still a convict by the Ministry of Magic and that, to his knowledge, upon his arrest, had frozen all of his assets. Obviously the latter was not true, if he had managed to buy a Firebolt of all things for Harry's belated birthday present in his Third Year. He supposed that since Gringotts was not under the jurisdiction of the Ministry of Magic, they had not frozen his assets.

"That is the most bollixed up will I've ever heard!"

All present started at the bold statement and stared at the young Malfoy. The usually dignified youth had pink splotches across his cheeks, most likely due to his anger at not receiving anything at all.

"Come, Draco," Narcissa said with a sniff, "Let us not linger with the commoners for more than we must." She imperiously stood and left, her robes sweeping behind her. Draco shot the others a parting sneer.

Seeing that the will reading was over, Harry quickly made an exit, his black robe flaring out behind him.

"Wait!"

Mentally cursing, Harry halted, his robes pooling about his feet.

The pattering of feet slowed; Harry counted four pairs. "Please," began a voice that he identified as Hermione's, "Can you tell us where Harry Potter is?"

Swallowing, Harry turned to face Hermione, Ron, Remus, and Tonks. "I am not allowed to say," responded Harry, playing the part of a servant of Lord Potter, "I will, however, disclose to you that Lord Potter is safe and well."

"Can you deliver a message for us if you indeed serve Harry?" asked Remus.

Harry inclined his head.

"Please inform Harry that we wish he would come back to us, and that we miss him greatly."

"I will do so." Turning, Harry walked away from his friends with a decidedly heavy step.

The four watched the dark-clad figure disappear in the throng of people in the Gringotts lobby. "I hope Harry's alright," Hermione murmured, worrying her lower lip.

"He'll be fine, Hermione," Ron said, "He always is in the end."

Remus and Tonks shared worried glances.

---

Harry retreated to the dimension where the Fortress of Dark was built. The Fortress itself was built on a hill in the center of a spacious valley, surrounded by jagged, ice-covered mountains. Overhead, a vast cloudless sky loomed, studded with millions upon millions of stars, lending all the light he needed to see. He roamed about the lands outside, noticing how he could see everything, yet the landscape was not illuminated. Various dark creatures roamed about, one of each: a sleek onyx dragon with large, leathery wings, a large-sized black panther, a great black wolf with gray-tipped fur, and a magnificent black stallion with silver hoofs, all three of which had black-plumed wings. Dementors milled about as well. They were all larger than he was tall. They were beautiful. They all bowed with respect as he strolled through the lands towards them. The Lands of Eternal Night were his, and these intelligent creatures understood that he was their Lord Sovereign.

"_Please rise. Good evening to you all,"_ he addressed the assembly with a small amount of apprehension. _"Let me first say that I am new at this sovereign thing, and that if I screw up, please don't eat me."_

A rumble of amusement swept through the creatures.

The stallion spoke, _"We would never harm our Lord. We all serve to provide different means of transportation for you. It is our collective pride and joy to serve you. We all are able to travel between this world and the one you hail from. We have different abilities that are to aid you in any way."_ The horse bared its teeth in what could be aptly described as a sneer. _"We all are able to efficiently intimidate those who oppose you."_

Harry nodded. _"Ah, I see. Can I call you up from the other realm?"_

"_Yes. We can travel to and fro with ease,"_ the wolf replied.

After a moment of thinking, Harry asked them another question. _"What are your names?"_

The dragon responded, _"We have no names. You just have to call out the adjective 'Black' before the type of animal we are. Names are not important; only what we embody, what we represent, are important."_

Harry smiled. _"I am pleased to have met you all. I intend to wage war against a dark lord, and would be honored if you all would join me in my cause."_

"_You need do nothing but ask,"_ the panther said as the assembled creatures bowed again in unison.

Harry walked forwards, stretching his hand out to pet the panther, which was taller than he. The panther purred under his touch. The wolf gently nuzzled his other hand, asking for the same ministrations he was currently giving the oversized feline. The animals cautiously gathered around the diminutively-sized human with satisfaction. It felt good to them to have a Lord again.

---

Albus Dumbledore was currently seated in his office, humming a ditty while doing paperwork. A chime sounded, indicating to him that someone had given the password to the stone gargoyle that protected the Headmaster's Tower. Setting the papers neatly aside, he watched as a small puff of smoke formed letters of two names. The smoke dispersed with the knocking on the door.

"Come in, Remus, Nymphadora," the Headmaster invited.

"You know, I wish you would call me 'Tonks' like everyone else," the female Auror grumbled.

Dumbledore simply continued smiling jovially. Neatly stacking his papers off to a corner of his desk, he bade them sit in the squashy red armchairs. "What can I do for you this evening?"

Cutting right to the chase, Remus began expressing his thoughts. "Albus, we went to the reading of the Last Will and Testament of Sirius, and there appeared a hooded man that said he was—and I quote—'a representative of Lord Potter'. Hermione asked if he could tell us where Harry was, if he was of any relation to begin with, and he said that he was not allowed to say. He did not mention anything about being related to Harry, but I asked if he could pass on a message to Harry if it is indeed him. The message itself is unimportant. I would have been inclined to believe that Lord Potter is Harry, but the dress of the representative dissuaded me of the idea."

"How is that?" asked the Headmaster.

"Well," started Remus, "He wore robes blacker than anything I've ever seen, stitched with silver embroidery. The clasp of his cloak was animated silver depicting smoke. His face was completely hidden from view. I would have guessed that this Lord Potter was dark."

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, thumb and index finger thoughtfully stroking his beard-covered chin. "I have not heard of any mention of a Lord Potter. There has been no indication of activity of that sort in Harry's accounts, so it would be safe to assume that it is not him. However, we cannot discount the possibility that it is indeed Harry."

"How are we to broach this?" asked Tonks, folding her arms as she thought.

"Well, I suppose we make friendly overtures, considering we do not know much about him. However, I myself would wait to see if we are able to gather more information about Lord Potter. After we have sufficient data, we make our move."

---

"I've got it!" Harry crowed, scaring himself with the noise he made upon waking up. Blinking his eyes, he gazed upon the elegant interior Master Suite of the Potter Estate in Manchester. Giddily, he got out of bed and dressed, all the while organizing his mind into the necessary "compartments" needed for Occlumency. That particular night's sleep had somehow allowed his mind to consolidate the memories of how to Occlude his mind and his seeming "block." With a single sweep of his hand and the wish that the room would be clean and tidy, it came into being. Harry was quite happy with the fact that he now did not need a wand nor need an incantation to practice magic. Stretching, he got up and adjusted the sword still attached to his hip. Harry had not noticed it as he slept; he figured that some sort of charm had been placed on it increasing one's comfort when worn—or rather, in his case, slept on. Stepping out into the hallway, he encountered a Dementor guard.

"_Good morning, my Liege,"_ it greeted with a bow. _"How are you feeling?"_

"_Fine, actually,"_ Harry replied. _"I don't need a mentor for Occlumency anymore. I figured it out in my sleep,"_ he said happily. Harry headed for the great room, the Dementor in tow. _"Tell me,"_ he began after some pondering. _"What are you? I'm not trying to be rude or anything,"_ he babbled, _"But what are Dementors? How did all you come to be?"_

"_We Dementors,"_ the Dementor started, _"We were once witches and wizards like yourself. We were the ones that had no happiness in our lives. We were the ones that were for most of our lives angry and bitter. We abused others, taking out anger and resentment out on them. It is for this very last transgression that we were doomed to an eternity of searching for peace. Our souls never moved on, continuing on this plane in these rotting carcasses, leaving us wanting, thirsting for what we may never have. We take what happiness where we can to appease the hollow emptiness within us, we take souls so that we may, for a moment, revel in the joy, happiness, and love of that soul that we ourselves had never experienced alive. Selfish, yes, but it is truth."_

"_You said you 'come and go out of existence'. How does that work?"_ Harry asked as he settled into a couch in the great room. Waving his hand, he conjured a tea set and complementary biscuits. Helping himself to the tea and biscuits, he gestured for the Dementor to make itself comfortable in the other chairs. The Dementor declined politely.

"_With you here to feed us, we can all remain in this dimension. It is a cycle. During happy times, we flourish, and multiply. However, when there are too many of us feeding, the humans become depressed and the happy emotions become scarce. Unhappiness becomes prevalent, leading to wars and depressions. During these times, some of us will fade and meld with the shadows, unaware of the passage of time, only aware of the blackness. When happy emotions begin to build up, we come out of the shadows. Our redemption comes in the form of restraint: restraint from taking souls freely and willingly. If we are able to abstain from taking souls for a certain amount of time, then we are allowed to pass on. It is a goal we all hope to reach after lifetimes of suffering, although your Ministry of Magic interferes with this goal."_

Harry gazed at the cloaked figure before him with sadness. _"I'm so sorry."_

The Dementor nodded but waved it off with, _"It is our punishment and atonement."_

"_So why is it that you run away from Patroni?"_ asked Harry.

"_Patroni are, as you know, created by happy, positive emotions. When concentrated as such, we are drawn to it and repelled by it. Drawn because we yearn for such feelings, yet repelled simply because of the sheer strength of the happiness. It is so concentrated that it is physically painful to us. We flee from it because of its potency."_ The Dementor seemed to sigh. _"It is simply the physical manifestation of what we never had and never will have."_

Harry could say nothing in reply. Giving the Dementor a sad nod, he stood up and cleared away the tea set.

Harry spent the day in the Lands of Eternal Night, getting to know his charges better and at the same time learning how to ride them in such a manner that he appeared confident and powerful. Most of his time was spent getting knocked onto his bum as they practiced the more complicated battle maneuvers. The simple riding he had down pat in no time. Getting to ride giant winged stallions, panthers, wolves, and dragons was what Harry most definitely considered a perk of his station.

Deciding to go back to the other realm, Harry bade his new friends goodbye and Slipped.

He appeared in a small alley in Diagon Alley. Making sure that his hood was on and that he was not either glowing or giving off the black smoke, he strode out into the midmorning sunlight. He quickly ducked back into the alley as a brown owl landed on his shoulder, an envelope tied to its leg. He took the letter off, shuddering at his black pointed nails. He carefully and gently stroked the bird, promising it treats as he gave a precursory glance over the unopened envelope. Tucking it into a pocket, he headed for Eeylops Owl Emporium, where he bought a small bag of treats and stepped outside the shop. Making sure he was not in the main walking area, he was able to change his nails, reverting them to what his fingers were like previously. He grinned, extremely thankful that he did not need a wand as he gave a few of the treats to the patiently waiting owl. Thinking of his wand, he frowned as he pulled out the letter.

It was simply addressed in the familiar glittering green ink.

_Harry Potter_

Nothing else. He supposed that with his moving about, either voluntarily or not, the letter had no address, only a name. Shrugging, he broke the wax seal emblazoned with the Hogwarts crest and opened the letter.

_Mr. Potter,_

_We hope you are currently doing well and that this owl finds you safe and sound. Due to the trial held on the 21st of July, 1996, and its subsequent verdict, we regret to inform you that you have been expelled from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. While we understand that you were not to blame, we are currently unable to continue your schooling due to interference from the Ministry of Magic. Included is a list of the Sixth Year books and equipment that you would need had you not been expelled. We hope you continue your learning and await the day you are declared innocent of the crimes._

_Regretfully,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

Indeed there was included a list of needed school supplies and equipment for all Sixth Years. There was also another letter nestled within the envelope, written in the loopy handwriting that Harry recognized as the Headmaster's.

_Harry,_

_I am first and foremost hopeful that you are safe, healthy, and sound, and that this letter reaches you with relative ease. I know you are innocent of the crimes you were accused of, regardless of your testimony. You were judged by your actions, not by your intent, something that the Wizengamot, nudged along by Minister Fudge and Auror Scrimgeour, did not consider. If you need sanctuary, I am able to secretly grant you this at Hogwarts, should you need it._

Harry pondered Professor Dumbledore's note. He now had a safe haven in Hogwarts, were he so inclined. Harry knew that Dumbledore's extending of the offer was extremely risky and had many severe consequences if the Ministry found out. He was warmed by the elderly professor's offer, and vowed to take up the invitation only as a last resort.

Scanning the list, he made a beeline for Flourish & Blott's, where he bought _Guide to Advanced Transfiguration_, _Quintessence: A Quest_, _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 6_, _Confronting the Faceless_, _Advanced Potion-Making_, and _Flesh-Eating Trees of the World_, all books that he would have needed had he still been a student. He also snagged several other books on modern potions, advanced transfiguration, defense against the dark arts, charms, and herbology, as well as titles on rituals, animagi, and the darker aspects of magic. One could never be too prepared when dealt the task of taking down Lord Voldemort, even with lifetimes of experience and knowledge. Harry knew that Voldemort would test him in ways that had never been done in all of mankind, and he needed to be ready for it. From there, he paid a visit to the apothecary and the stationary shop. Finished with the shopping list, he shrunk all his purchases and slipped them into a pocket in his robes as he debated on whether or not to get himself a new wand.

Considering that he was no longer attending Hogwarts, it was reasonable to say that Harry no longer needed a wand. He did, after all, understood and used wandless magic. Shrugging his shoulders, he decided a wand was not necessary. _Besides,_ he thought with a smirk, _no one can disarm me if I have nothing to be disarmed from. However, if I visit Hogwarts, they will expect me to use a wand. I don't want to reveal my talents just yet._

Deciding to build a wand himself, Harry headed for Madam Malkin's for his last stop. He bought several different types of clothes: an assortment of everyday robes and clothing, both of which were dyed with in dark, rich tones. He debated getting grundies, but decided that Muggle grundies worked better overall. Recalling Groblink's comment about recently inheriting another vault, he wearily trudged back to the goblin-run bank. The early evening customers quickly scurried away from the darkly clothed figure. After politely requesting a meeting with Groblink, Harry was once again found waiting in the same room as earlier.

"Ah, you have come, Mr. Potter," Groblink greeted. "You come, no doubt, to inquire about the new vault you recently inherited."

"Yes, I am here to ask about that," Harry replied. In his mind, brief burst of memories flashed through his mind, giving him vague impressions of a cave of sorts, covered with metallic objects along its walls.

Groblink lead Harry down to the mine carts. After a long, twisting ride, they ended up screeching to a halt before an unlabeled vault. Harry stepped out of the cart and gazed at the vault door. It was a plain, flawless slab of polished black obsidian. Furrowing his brow, he glanced at Groblink.

"This vault has not been opened within the past few centuries," the goblin answered to his look, "The knowledge of how to open it has been lost."

Swallowing nervously, Harry stepped cautiously forward. From the centre of the obsidian block came forth the face of a snarling dragon, its face bound seamlessly to the stone. It snapped at Harry, who narrowly missed the knife-like teeth.

"_Who dares disturb this vault?"_ the dragonhead growled thunderously.

"_I, Harry James Potter, dare disturb your slumber,"_ he responded, pleased with the fact that his voice did not betray his roiling stomach with a quiver.

The dragonhead reached out to snuffle him, blowing cold breaths against his body, not unlike the sensation felt when encountering a Dementor as a human. The reptilian retreated a small distance, eyeing Harry with its reflective black eyes. Harry suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable; the eyes seemed to penetrate each and every defense he had, both mental and physical. The eyes sought the necklace, the sword, the cloak clasp, and lastly, his mind and soul.

After what felt like an eternity of scrutiny, the dragonhead finally deemed Harry satisfactory.

"_My Liege, you are welcome to enter the Vault of the Dark Heirs."_ The dragonhead finished with what was unmistakably a bow before melting back into the obsidian. The black slab seemed to melt away revealing a dimly lit cavern. Harry warily entered, the goblin wisely choosing to remain behind. He had heard the tales of what was inside, and was not eager to accidentally inflict insanity on himself.

Harry glanced around. The cave was more of an armory, filled with assorted weapons of every type specially keyed to him alone. Each one had labels, indicating what would happen to a being if inflicted with an injury from said weapon. A precursory glance revealed that most inflicted psychological damage. He noticed a small silver orb that rested on a prop along a wall. Its card stated that it summoned darkness itself, and allowed the owner to call upon in and trap victims within, rendering them blind and deaf to the world.

Along with the assorted weaponry, there was also a crystal bottle with a black liquid inside. The label was different from all the others, and Harry somehow knew this was the only non-destructive object in the entire vault. The liquid would restore the souls of those who had been Kissed, provided the body was still alive. The souls that Dementors took remained within them, trapped for all eternity unless the Dementor in question was finally allowed to move on. Then, those souls would be able to move on as well. The liquid, christened the Elixir of Reawakening, was not able to restore the souls from those Kissed by a particular being: the Lord Sovereign of Darkness. The Lord Sovereign of Darkness, if he so deigned to Kiss someone, did not only take the person's soul. Instead of trapping the soul within the body, the soul was destroyed entirely.

After inspecting the contents of the vault, Harry exited and watched the slab materialize into place. Nodding briskly to Groblink, Harry stepped in to the mine cart with the goblin and began the journey back to the surface.

Harry sighed as he left the bank. Finished with his foray into Diagon Alley, Harry ducked into Knockturn Alley and Slipped into the shadows.

---

Another chapter done. Shorter than usual, yes, but I've been cursed with writer's block as of late. That and college decided to up a few notches. I hope you enjoyed it and please, review. I'm probably going to be really slow with my updates, and I apologize profusely in advance. Thanks to fussbudget for catching my error.

-Tal.

---

Completed: 11.10.2006

Edited: 11.11.2006

Re-edited: 1.6.09

---


	7. Chapter VI: Professor Hamilton

Harry Potter characters do not belong to me but to J.K. Rowling.

---

In Terms of a Name

By Taliya

---

Chapter VI: Professor Hamilton

---

Harry sighed as he left the bank. Finished with his foray into Diagon Alley, Harry ducked into Knockturn Alley and Slipped into the shadows.

---

A light tapping on the window to his study in the Potter Estate in Manchester drew his attention from his mid-morning musings. Harry glanced up to find a tawny owl perched on the window sill. With a wave of his hand, the window unlatched itself and opened, allowing the bird inside.

After taking off the envelope from the raptor's foot, Harry watered and fed the bird as he read the contents of his letter. _My O.W.L. scores,_ he thought. _Not bad._ He grinned half-heartedly. _I did well, all things considered._

The owl left him to his solitude. Pulling the letter from Dumbledore out from his cloak, he reread the loopy handwriting. _"If you need sanctuary, I am able to secretly grant you this at Hogwarts, should you need it."_

Perhaps it was time to test the aged Headmaster's words.

But for now, Harry settled for learning more about his seemingly newfound Metamorphmagus abilities.

---

Exhausted after an entire afternoon of playing with his abilities before a mirror, Harry retired to the bed in the master bedroom of the Potter Estate. Flopping on the fluffy down comforter, he allowed his mind to drift as he rested.

A thought hit him and he slowly got up, wincing a little at the slight aches he felt throughout his body. Heading for the bathroom, he turned on the tap for a bath and watched as water streamed from the nozzle. A hot soak would do wonders for his soreness—so he had heard. As an afterthought he added aromatherapy oils and soap into the bath, observing as the soap generated a thick, fluffy froth. Grabbing a towel from a cabinet, he hung it on the towel rack and turned to face his reflection in the large three-fold mirror.

It was the first time that he had actually looked at himself—really looked at himself—in the mirror after his transformation. He had believed that his eyes were unique in color, even for the already rare green. They had always been a bright viridian, but now, they seemed almost luminous, even in sunlight. These changed eyes contrasted with his pale skin, almost paper white in the filtered sunlight that leaked into his bathroom. Again, this newly changed feature contrasted starkly with his onyx-colored hair. His hair matched his new robes, gifted to him by the Dementors. Releasing the constraints he placed on himself, he watched as some odd shadowy light infused his body, just enough to grab attention. The same black smoke characteristic of the Dementors curled around his feet. His sword's hilt flashed silver in the light, reflecting off the mirror to highlight his medallion and smoky clasp.

Harry took in his appearance, studying himself. All in all, he looked regal—almost like, dare he say, _royalty_. Albeit, dark royalty… or maybe a dark sort of mage. Examining himself a little more, he noticed the mirrors fogging up.

Quickly disrobing, he slid into the bath after shutting the tap off. The warmth of the water soaked into his body, relaxing his muscles and working through his aches. He leaned against the side of the tub and stared up at the ceiling, deep in thought.

_With this change, where do I stand in society now? I know I can alter my appearance, but I'd prefer not to if I can help it._ He frowned. _With all these new thoughts, ideas, and knowledge that are not mine, am I still the same Harry Potter? No, I can't be the same Harry Potter everyone saw before. I am different; I have changed. Can and will Ron, Ginny, Luna, Neville, and Hermione accept me now? Will they reject me for my unintentional alignment with what have been traditionally thought to be the darkest of creatures?_

Harry batted the bubbles and foam too and fro for a little, still contemplating his "new" identity. Was he still Harry Potter, Wizarding Britain's Boy-Who-Lived, the boy savior under the tutelage of the Light's leader? Or was he Harry Potter, the Dementors' Lord Sovereign of Darkness, a persona destined to be wrongly associated as a Dark Lord? He snorted. _I have two too many bloody titles._

He pulled the plug and climbed out the bath. Drying himself with the towel, his frown morphed into a scowl as he realized that he had no clean clothes. He blinked as a clean set of grundies, jeans, and shirt popped into existence before him. _Did I conjure that?_

Shrugging, he slipped on his new clothes, marveling at the fit before replacing his adornments. He looked back at himself in the mirror. With a little concentration, he darkened his skin tone to a more healthy, sun-kissed pink color, dulled the glow of his eyes and skin, and dispelled the swirling black smoke.

_What is the face that I want to use? Hmm… I'll change a few things about my appearance, only just enough to make sure no one can make the connection to Harry Potter._ Concentrating, he changed himself to his liking.

---

Books lay scattered about the Riddle library. Tom Marvolo Riddle, now better acknowledged across Britain as Lord Voldemort, threw yet another book down in disgust. Years ago, before his first reign of terror began, he had cleansed the library of all Muggle books, replacing them with volumes upon volumes of dark magic long since banned by the Ministry.

Pale fingers nimbly grazing the ratty spines of dark magic tomes, they paused upon reaching a particularly dilapidated manuscript. Said fingers gently pried the hardback from the shelf, easing the antique open to flip through the musty pages.

Vermillion eyes widened, then crinkled in sick glee at the contents of Summoning the Shadow Creatures_._ His eyes greedily skimmed the pages, mind whirling. _Oh, the possibilities…_ he thought, reading through the first page on creatures.

"_There are only five different shadow creatures known to Wizard kind. These creatures all have colorings that are a variation of black. They are creatures that cause unhappiness and destruction, and are extremely powerful if under your command._

"_The first of these creatures is the least destructive and most well known: the Dementor. These creatures feed on the happiness of people, both Wizards and Muggles. No contact is required for them to feed; only a certain proximity to their victim is required. They are also capable of ingesting the souls of their victims by "kissing" them on the mouth, thereby sucking their souls out of the victim's body._

"_Only Wizards can see them, as well as negate their effects with the casting of the _Patronus_ spell, a physical embodiment of their happy memories and feelings. This spell is so intense that Dementors cannot physically tolerate it and therefore will flee from the spell. They multiply in times of decadence and frivolity, and decrease in numbers in times of depression and duress. At any one time, there usually can be found around a few thousand scattered about the world. _

"_The other four creatures are extremely powerful by their natures. If commanded, they can control certain elements, allowing substantial damage and destruction to be done. Their size alone also can cause potential damage. There is only one of each kind. Little is known of these creatures besides their elemental abilities._

"_The first creature is a winged dragon of the blackest night. This dark creature commands the fire element. Giant infernos hot enough to melt metals can be created at any given notice, large areas can be swept clean and incinerated if given direction and scope._

"_The second creature is a wolf with black-feathered wings. This creature of shadow commands the earth element. Mountains and canyons can be created or destroyed, earthquakes precisely placed, and jungles and forests can be grown in minutes._

"_The third creature is a stallion with black-feathered wings as well. This shadow creature commands the wind element. The winds it creates can cause tornadoes, dust storms, and other such violent winds powerful enough to knock over trees and buildings._

"_The fourth creature is a panther with black-feathered wings. This creature of darkness commands the water element. It can call down rain, sleet, and hail, cause floods or droughts, and lightning in these storms are capable of hitting directed targets._

"_Together these five creatures are capable of sending entire continents on their knees. The rituals needed to summon these creatures therefore exact an extremely heavy price on the ones doing the summoning._

"_The Dementors act as recruiters for the Land of Eternal Night to choose and transform a leader. Once this leader is transformed, command over every dark creature is freely given. The Dementors answer every call the leader gives, and heeds every command._

"_The ritual materials required to summon one of the latter four takes exactly one year to prepare…"_

"Wormtail!" Voldemort barked.

The poor fool came bumbling into the library moments later.

"M-my Lord?" he sniveled, bowing deeply.

"Gather my faithful in the great room. I have certain job assignments to hand out."

As his fearful servant scurried away to do his bidding, the Dark Lord furrowed his brow. _How does one go about convincing the Dementors to choose you? Perhaps… I need more to persuade them. Any and all souls they find, barring my own and possibly my more powerful followers? I must think on this._

---

Hermione packed up her belongings, her stay at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, the Order of the Phoenix's headquarters, over. She sighed. There had still been no sign of Harry.

"Buck up," a voice said in the direction of her doorway.

The young woman turned troubled hazel eyes to find Ron leaning in her doorway, watching her slowly pack up her things. His sister Ginny appeared a moment later. The siblings would be staying at headquarters longer.

"Harry will be fine. He always has been before." Yet even these words he spoke sounded hollow to his ears. "We'll see him on the train come September first." His countenance faintly revealed how troubled he really was.

"Ron's right, Hermione," Ginny said quietly. "Have faith in him and his abilities."

Hermione held back her tears and sniffling as she rapidly packed up her remaining belongings. Ron said nothing as he helped Hermione move her trunk down the stairs. At the foot of the stairs, Remus Lupin waited.

"Ready to return home, Hermione?" he asked with kind eyes.

"Yes, sir," she replied. Turning to Ron, she smiled and gave him a hug. "Thank you, Ron."

"It was nothing," Ron mumbled with a lopsided smile. "Take care."

"See you soon, Ginny," Hermione murmured as she hugged the younger girl.

"Don't worry too much; Harry's always gotten out of scrapes mostly unharmed," Ginny whispered, drawing on experience.

With a parting wave, Remus and Hermione portkeyed away.

---

After having an enthusiastically chattering Hagrid show him in, a tall, handsome young man with combed but wavy onyx-colored hair and glacial blue, almost silver eyes stared at the gargoyle statue that guarded the passageway to the Headmaster's office. He was clean-shaven, with only scraggly bangs obstructing his view every now and then. His robes spoke of wealth; gold ivy leaves and vines were richly embroidered along the trim of his deep blue crushed velvet robes and cloak. He had a black leather portfolio loosely clasped in one arm. Hidden underneath his clothing were a black and silver sword strapped to his hip, a silver medallion of animated Dementors, and other assorted weaponry hidden on his person.

_Ah, hello, old friend,_ he thought as he studied the hideous work of art. It was such a wonderful feeling to be back in these familiar hallways. He had wondered many times during his different captivities whether or not he would ever see these beloved stone walls again. Smiling slightly, he turned his eyes back to the gargoyle, which had already jumped to the side, revealing the winding staircase.

Face now wiped of all expressions, except perhaps, boredom, he stepped onto the moving stairs. Ever since his transformation, he had noticed that he felt emotions more strongly than before. Sirius' death ached much more in his heart as it had, and the simple joy of flying on his conjured broomstick had increased overall. Despite the increased intensity of his emotions, he found that his overall control over his reactions had grown proportionally, even increasing so much as to surpass the force of his strengthened emotions. Now, he could feel the powerful rush of excitement and happiness on his broom and have only the slightest quirk of the lips to show for it.

"Enter," called an age-roughened voice from behind the door. Harry blinked once and mentally shook himself before opening the door. He had decided earlier not to reveal his true identity—at least, not just yet. His Occlumency was nigh impenetrable, so he had no worries of the elderly wizard figuring him out. _What you don't know can't hurt you,_ he thought with a mental smirk. Unnoticeably fingering his homemade wand strapped to his arm in his sleeve, he greeted the aged Headmaster with a stiff nod while reminding himself not to address the man as "Professor Dumbledore".

"Good afternoon, Headmaster Dumbledore. My name is Faustus Hamilton," Harry professionally introduced himself as he opened his portfolio and handed over a résumé. His countenance was a study of blankness that Dumbledore could not read at all. "I am twenty-two years of age and I was taught in the States. I heard by word of mouth that you were in search of a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. I have a few years of experience, and I am quite well versed in assorted Muggle martial arts and weaponry." All of this was spoken with a vague American accent as the Headmaster perused the thick paper.

Albus Dumbledore carefully read through the young man's résumé. While there was, admittedly, not much, overall the accomplishments of the young man were fairly impressive. Regardless, a practical test of sorts was required. _In these dark times, practical skills are very much valued over knowledge, sadly enough,_ the wizened educator thought.

"As the headmaster of this school, it is my duty to protect those under my wing. However horrible this sounds, I must ask: do you bear the Dark Mark?" asked Dumbledore.

Harry shook his head. "I do not," he answered quietly, lifting away his left sleeve and exposing his bare forearm.

The austerity on the old man's face seemed to melt away, revealing the more familiar grandfather-like persona he frequently used. "Now, Mr. Hamilton, would you humor an old man such as myself by subjecting yourself to a practical examination of sorts?" asked Albus, his eyes twinkling slightly.

"But of course, Headmaster," Harry consented, flicking his wand out from his wand holster. Harry was immensely proud of his handcrafted wand. Fifteen inches long, the wand contained the feathers and a scale of his four shadow creature friends in the core, concealed within a simple yet intricately sculpted silver oak shaft and handle. Although the core was inherently dark, the magical wood was inherently light, thereby allowing the wand to channel dark magic just as easily as light magic. At the base of the handle, a small onyx cabochon was embedded, both to focus and concentrate the channeled magic as well as pass as an aesthetic pleaser. All in all, it was a beautiful, powerful wand.

"To the Great Hall, then," directed Albus as he stood up. Harry stood as well and followed the aged wizard out of his office.

They meandered through the hallways, ending up in the same room Harry had seen almost daily for ten months out of the year for the past five years. The tables and benches had been neatly arranged along the walls, leaving a large open space to work with.

"Now, my young lad, please show me a few of your skills on this mannequin," instructed Dumbledore as he conjured an animated human-like doll, complete with wand.

Harry rolled his shoulders and neck to loosen the muscles and circled the mannequin. He discretely re-holstered his wand as he lunged forwards to engage the dummy in hand-to-hand combat. The physical enhancements he had obtained from his transformation pushed his limits far beyond that of an ordinary human. Were he so inclined, Harry could pass out hits so quickly that a normal human could not register the action with their eyes. Faster reflexes and more acute senses were also part of his physical transformation. Erring on the side of caution, Harry slowed his movements so that his aging observer could watch them.

Taking a few hits himself, Harry danced backwards and pulled his wand free of its holster. Like an automatic pistol, he fired spell after spell with no pauses in between. Because his wand had been customized, it allowed him to only think of the incantation; the wand "felt" its owner's intentions and translated the "feeling" into casting the correct charm or curse. As a show, Harry muttered his incantations under his breath, his lips moving almost silently.

_Wandless magic is so much easier,_ he mused as he dodged a jinx cast by the mannequin. Shooting a few more spells back in retaliation, he slipped his wand back into his holster and pulled out two daggers from his boots, previously hidden via his robes. Swiftly approaching the dummy, he used two clean crossed slices. The head toppled off the body with a dull thud and rolled away. The body collapsed.

Harry sheathed his daggers to the sound of Albus' applause.

"Impressive. Very impressive. You certainly qualify for the job; I do hope you remain there for more than a year," the Headmaster commented with a smile.

"Thank you, Headmaster," replied Harry as he dusted himself off.

"Please," Dumbledore said, holding a hand up, "Call me Albus."

Harry shook his hand. "Of course, Albus."

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Professor Hamilton!"

---

Harry had finally brought a trunk of his "belongings" and had settled into his rooms. Books taken from the Potter and Black estates, as well as a few that he had gone out and bought were neatly arranged on the built-in bookshelves. His clothes were hung in the armoire, and a few little trinkets that had caught his eye while down in the family vaults were artfully arranged throughout his quarters. None of these trinkets had the family crests on them; he had made sure that they could not be traced to be either Black or Potter heirlooms.

The young Lord Sovereign of Darkness was currently strolling about the hallways, regaining his familiarity with the school's layout as he directed himself towards the owlery to find his beloved familiar, Hedwig. He had grown tired of reading a packet detailing the privileges and responsibilities of being part of the teaching faculty and had decided taking a walk about the premises would do wonders to clear his mind. As he passed the library entrance, he encountered his former Potions professor, Severus Snape.

Harry eyed the man before him. He had not changed since the last time he saw the man. Harry felt the stirrings of anger within him but swiftly squashed the feelings. The Potions Master did not know he was Harry Potter. A fresh start was possible.

"Good afternoon," Harry greeted with a nod of the head.

The uptight man before him nodded in return. "You look a little young to be wandering the hallways before the start of term," the Head of Slytherin House remarked with a touch of contempt.

Harry allowed himself a small smirk. "Young I may be, but I am the newly hired Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor."

Snape blinked once in surprise before his bland façade was back on. "I see. Nonetheless, mind you keep out of my way." Turning, Severus Snape stalked away, his black robes billowing out behind him.

No sooner had Harry blinked at the oddness of the meeting and resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at the man's back than his former Transfiguration professor wandered upon him.

Eyeing the young man, she asked, "May I help you, sir?"

Said young man allowed a small smile to grace his lips as he replied, "Nay, madam, I am simply allowing myself to become used to my surroundings. I am the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."

"Oh," the woman exclaimed, "Where are my manners? Minerva McGonagall, Professor of Transfiguration." She held her hand out.

"Faustus Hamilton," he answered by way of introduction as he shook her hand. "Pleased to meet you."

The Transfiguration professor smiled warmly. "Welcome to Hogwarts."

"Thank you," Harry replied, pleased with her acceptance.

"I'm terribly sorry, but you'll have to excuse me. I still need to prepare for my classes." With a parting nod, both instructors went their separate ways.

Reaching the owlery, Harry gazed up at the different shades of brown flurry of feathers. "Hedwig!" he called. Out of the huddled masses a snowy white figure descended to circle him rather than land on his outstretched arm.

"Hedwig? Remember me, girl? It's me, Harry," he murmured softly.

Hedwig hooted and gently landed on Harry's arm. Harry chucked as the bird nibbled his ear affectionately.

"How have you been doing, girl? Have you been treated well?" he asked, stroking her breast feathers gently.

The raptor cooed, her tawny eyes displaying her concern for her master.

"What say you to some quality outdoors time flying?"

---

September first rolled around faster than anyone had anticipated. Ron, Ginny, and Hermione had already loaded their trunks on the puffing, scarlet Hogwarts Express. Changing quickly into their school uniforms, the older two headed towards the Prefects' Compartment, stopping to tell their friends Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood where Ginny was and where their belongings had been stashed.

The Prefect Meeting was rather boring; all Ron and Hermione could think about was Harry. After the meeting was adjourned, they hurriedly left the compartment to join their friends. The journey from London to Hogwarts should have been full of laughter and joy at the friends' reunion. Instead, it was quiet and somber—all thoughts were centered on their missing friend.

Sometime during the trip, the group's enemies, consisting of the unsaid but acknowledged Slytherin Prince, Draco Malfoy, and his cronies, Vincent Crabbe, and Gregory Goyle, showed up. Making snide remarks about Harry's absence, the group of friends quickly ousted the trio from their compartment.

They reached Hogwarts after night had fallen. After arranging themselves at their respective tables in the Great Hall, they glanced up at the High Table. Immediately they noticed the new face sequestered between Dumbledore and Snape. He was young—probably between his late teens to early twenties. He possessed a handsome face crowned with wavy black hair and was dressed in elegant midnight-colored robes. His posture was impeccable, and his face devoid of all emotion. His eyes were what really drew their attention: they were a bluish silver color, and so cold and distant that they involuntarily shivered as said eyes passed over them individually. Turning away from whom they assumed would be their new Defense Against the Dark Arts, or DADA for short, professor. Eagerly they waited for the sorting to begin.

---

Draco sat down at the Slytherin table, subtly monitoring the new professor. He was young—extremely young for a professor, and seemingly quite the stoic one as well. His eyes were cold—they betrayed nothing about the man's thoughts. His lack of facial expression was one hundred percent quality Slytherin. Perhaps he had been in Slytherin House in his younger days? However, as Draco thought back, he did not remember anyone in his house with facial features such as his. Eyes as unique as his would have stood out in his mind.

Draco frowned. _Perhaps he is older than he looks. Maybe Father knows him, or at least who he is,_ he thought. _He looks well bred and Slytherin enough—maybe we can… persuade him to our cause. I wonder what his name is and what family he belongs to._

The new professor's silver-blue eyes latched onto his own light grey eyes. The harshness of his gaze unsettled him. Before, Draco had believed that his father possessed the coldest, most aloof front that any person could present to the world at large. Obviously, he was very wrong.

Idly the platinum blond boy wondered how long it took to gain such mastery over emotion. He would study the man to learn. Even the smallest detail would gain him some insight into the workings of this man's mind.

---

The Sorting went smoothly. After the last First Year had settled into their proper table, Minerva used her spoon to tap the side of her glass goblet. All attention fell on the aged Headmaster as he stood.

"For those of you who are new, welcome to Hogwarts! To those returning, welcome back! I have a few announcements to make before the Start-of-Term Feast begins. Firstly, Mr. Filch kindly wishes to remind you all that magic is not to be performed in the hallways. A list of items not tolerated within these walls can be found in Mr. Filch's office. Secondly, the Forbidden Forest is restricted from all students of all years. Lastly, we are proud to have a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Professor Hamilton!"

The last announcement was met with polite applause as Harry stiffly stood and nodded his head before sitting back down. Harry coughed a bit as his sensitive hearing heard the giggles of the girls and the guarded whispers of the boys.

"He's so cute!"

"He's probably going to steal my girl!"

"Don't you love his eyes?"

"He's so mysterious… and so dreamy…"

"His eyes are kind of scary…"

Albus allowed the students a few moments to whisper to themselves. Clearing his throat, he spoke. "A few last words before we tuck in. Oahu! Magenta! Hullabaloo! Snit!"

Food appeared on the tabletops and both students and staff began filling their plates.

---

Harry discretely observed his friends. Their faces were pinched with tension and worry even as they laughed and joked with their dorm mates. He immediately felt guilty, but logic reasserted itself, stating the same "ignorance is bliss" argument. Although his longing to talk to his friends was strong, his will and control was greater, allowing him to step back and view the situation as though from a third party.

Harry understood that the fewer people knew he was within the walls, the safer everyone would be. He had no illusions that if Voldemort could, he would use Occlumency on his friends to find his location. They would be unable to provide that answer, and hopefully remain safe. _Such wishful thinking,_ he softly snorted to himself, _If Voldemort can't find any information, he's likely to kill them on the spot in anger._ He sat silently, arguments chasing each other around in his mind until he came to a decision. With a heavy heart, Harry promised to distance himself from his friends and allow any and all communication between them to remain strictly within the bounds of a student-instructor relationship.

As the feast ended and students began to loiter towards the doors of the Great Hall, Harry sighed softly to himself and made his way towards his quarters to finalize his syllabi. _Sometimes,_ Harry thought, _having the experience of different people makes my life easier._

---

The first class of the day for Sixth Year Gryffindors was DADA with Professor Hamilton. After breakfast, Ron, Neville, and Hermione bid Ginny goodbye and followed year mates Parvati Patil, Lavender Brown, Seamus Finnigan, and Dean Thomas to the DADA classroom.

The door was open, so they quietly filed in and took their seats. In a few minutes the bell had rung and everyone was seated. More minutes passed, and no Professor Hamilton appeared. Many of the students began fidgeting, but they all remained quiet.

"Here to learn Defense Against the Dark Arts, Sixth Year Gryffindors?" asked a low, masculine voice from the back of the room.

All of the students jumped, quickly spinning in their seats to find the source of the voice. All eyes fell upon a blank-faced Professor Hamilton leaning against the shadowed back right corner, eyes roving about and locking onto each and every student's eyes.

Hermione blinked. She could have sworn that no one was there before, and there had been neither movement nor sound around the doors. _Maybe he has an invisibility cloak or used a disillusion charm of some sort,_ she reasoned.

Harry really had no need for invisibility cloaks or disillusion charms anymore. Slipping and Streaming worked well for him. Slipping was how he got there in the first place. He took in the startled and slightly fearful gazes of his students before he pushed off the wall and sedately strolled to the front of the room and settled at his desk.

"Now, when I call your name, please indicate to me that you present," Harry started, glancing at his attendance sheet. After reading off all the names and checking off who was absent, he began his class.

"Now, who can tell me what topics you've covered already in the past few years?" he asked even though he knew from personal experience.

Instantly Hermione's hand shot up. He called on her, pretending to ask for her name again and listening to her brief but detailed synopsis of the past five years of DADA.

Nodding his head, he scribbled on a few sheets of paper and tapped it with his wand. With a careless wave of his wand, he sent a small stack of papers to each student.

"This is your copy of the syllabus for the semester, as well as a calendar of readings and their corresponding homework assignments, and subsequently, exam dates. Now that you know what is expected of you homework-wise, I will accept no late work. As you can see, we are going to be starting off the year learning practical application of spells, jinxes, charms, and curses that you've learned in the form of duels. You will not be dueling each other for a long time. You will learn how to improve your speed and accuracy in your spellwork before any sort of wand pointing at each other. Is that understood?"

A chorus of affirmatives answered his question.

"Should I find that anyone has attempted to duel another, whether in class or not, both offenders will be automatically given a detention under my supervision." Here Harry hardened his stare slightly, causing some of the less brave Gryffindors to squirm uncomfortably in their seats.

"I will not tolerate dueling in any form without my supervision, and I will know who has attempted a duel."

Experiences not his own had forced Harry to make this statement: too many of the souls taken had suffered irreversible damage at the hands of inexperienced and overconfident students of dueling. He also did not want any of his friends to find themselves on the business end of Malfoy's wand.

The threat hung thick in the air.

"Now," Harry said crisply, eyes suspiciously bright, "Who wants to watch a rather toned-down duel between myself and a rather dangerous man known as Headmaster Dumbledore?"

The gobsmacked expressions of the Sixth Years were all the answer he needed as Albus entered the room, chuckling at the stunned countenances of his pupils.

"Please stand on the perimeter of the room," Harry instructed. The students eagerly did so. Harry cleared the desks off to the sides of the room and set up a barrier to protect his former classmates. Bowing to the aged wizard, the duel began.

They had both agreed to start off with the simpler hexes and jinxes, such as the Tickling Charm and the Jelly-Legs Jinx. After a few rounds of casting and dodging, they began using the Disarming Charm and other more powerful curses. Near the end of the class, the two duelists were waging all out war, using fairly advanced, medium-powered spells that summoned fire, wind, and water.

Hearing the bell that dismissed class, the two professors discontinued their battle and bowed to each other, twinkles in their eyes, a grin on the Headmaster's lips and a small quirk on the DADA professor's.

The Sixth Year Gryffindors quietly filed out of the classroom, still dazed by the demonstration.

After the last student had left, Harry turned bright eyes towards the older man. "You move fast for an elderly man, Albus," Harry quipped, the small upturn of his lips fading but the amusement and excitement still shining in his eyes.

Albus chuckled in surprise. He had no idea that the younger man could joke, considering his imperviously stolid façade. "I still have some energy yet to beat you young whippersnappers," he retorted good-naturedly.

Harry smirked. "You absolutely sure you are up to doing this for the remaining Sixth Years and all the Seventh Years?"

Dumbledore lightheartedly scowled at him.

---

Classes were over for the day. Harry sighed and rolled his shoulder. Blinking his eyes tiredly, he closed the door to his classroom and sequestered himself in his quarters. Deciding that a visit to the Lands of Eternal Night were in order, he closed his eyes and Slipped.

He materialized in the same dimly light valley. The stallion noticed him first, whickered, and trotted over. The other animals followed soon after.

"_What brings you here, My Liege?"_ the dragon asked, nudging Harry's other free hand for a petting.

"_A long day of teaching,"_ Harry replied. _"I am curious—what other abilities you all possess? Would you be so kind as to allow a demonstration?"_

The assorted animals vocalized their agreement, and Harry, carefully keeping track of the time, lost himself in the spectacular displays of magic and power.

The creatures demonstrated their elemental abilities in heated battle against one another. Harry watched as his mind assimilated the images he saw and pieced together how the elements interacted with each other. The combining of elements would most assuredly be useful in the fight against Voldemort.

He then spent some time riding on the backs of the creatures. It was exhilarating, seeing the world from so high above. It was like being on a broom, but better. It reminded Harry of riding on Buckbeak, the hippogriff that he and Hermione had helped escape from a grisly execution.

His subjects informed him that when they were in contact with one another, Harry could imbue his sword with the element of the animal he touched, only magnitudes more powerful than normal. A test proved that if Harry touched the dragon, his sword would flare up to such high temperatures he knew that his sword should have melted long ago. Perhaps if he could manipulate the element swirling around his gifted weapon…

---

DADA was the talk of the day. Those who had classes with Professor Hamilton spoke of his strict and austere manner. Yet they could not help but be impressed with the mock skirmish between the DADA Professor and the Headmaster. The others who had not yet had his class wished the hours would pass faster so that they could experience Professor Hamilton's classes for themselves.

As Harry approached the High Table for dinner, students would hush as he swiftly strode by, a flurry of whispering left in his wake.

"Ah, Faustus," greeted Dumbledore, "Your classes were and are the talk of the day."

Harry smirked slightly. "Is that so, Albus?"

"The students do not know whether to detest you or admire you," Albus continued.

"It is not my duty to make them like me, Albus," Harry replied, "I simply teach the way I believe the subject should be taught."

---

Finally! Another chapter done! I hope you enjoyed it and please, review. My muse had decided a five-month vacation was in order, and now has returned invigorated and refreshed. The name "Faustus" means fortunate or lucky in Latin. My apologies for the wait; I thank those of you that reviewed.

-Tal.

---

Completed: 1.6.2007

Edited: 1.9.2007

Re-edited: 1.7.2009

---


	8. Chapter VII: Classes and Kisses

Harry Potter characters do not belong to me but to J.K. Rowling.

---

In Terms of a Name

By Taliya

---

Chapter VII: Classes and Kisses

---

"The students do not know whether to detest you or admire you," Albus continued.

"It is not my duty to make them like me, Albus," Harry replied, "I simply teach the way I believe the subject should be taught."

---

The first week of classes passed quickly for both students and faculty. Harry's classes in particular were a success. While he was not biased towards any house, almost all his students strived to earn House points and remain in his good graces. A few students had been unfortunate enough to wake the professor's temper. It was not something any of them were keen on experiencing again.

After the lunch break, Harry meandered into his office to wait out the hour or so he had free of class. He brought a book he had taken from the Black Library on dark magic and their respective counter-curses.

Sinking into the provided soft black leather armchair, he flipped to the bookmarked page and continued where he left off. Fire crackled merrily in the fireplace, lending a warm glow to the already sunlit office.

Harry glanced up as he heard a clicking on his window. Looking up, he found Hedwig perched on the ledge, waiting for him to allow her entrance. Harry quickly stood and opened the window. Hedwig drifted in, landing softly on his desk.

"Hey, girl," he greeted, fetching some owl treats to give to her. "Need me for something?"

The bird hooted a negative, and hopped onto his arm.

Harry gazed at his companion thoughtfully. "Hedwig, I think we need to disguise you. A snowy owl is horribly easy to spot, and everyone knows that you are the familiar of Harry Potter. If anyone sees you, my cover will be blown. Would you, dear girl, mind if I changed you to a different type of bird and called you a different name?"

The raptor seemed to consider his proposal before she dipped her head in an undeniable nod.

Harry smiled slightly. "Thanks girl. I promise this won't hurt." With some concentration and a wave of his hand, the bird's size increased. Her back changed from a snow white to a golden brown, while her underside and face melted into a soft cream color. Her eyes changed from a rich gold to ebony black. The sprinkling of gray and black spots remained on her back. Her down feathers were mostly lost, reducing her size slightly. Instead of a snowy owl, a barn owl stood before him. "May I call you Aldara, Hedwig? It's Greek for means 'a winged gift.' That's what you are to me."

The transformed owl cooed, pleased with her alias name. She gently nibbled Harry's ear as he softly stroked her breast feathers. "Thank you, girl," he murmured.

A knock on the door startled Harry from his reverie.

"Come in," Harry called, still petting his bird.

A small Second Year peered around the door. "Hullo, Professor Hamilton," she greeted.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Kensington, what may I do for you?" asked Harry.

"Er, would you mind going over the material we went over in class yesterday? I'm having trouble doing the homework assignment," she murmured.

Noticing how uncomfortable the girl was, Harry allowed his features to soften a little. Gesturing to the chair on the other side of his desk, he asked her to sit down.

"Now, before we start—hey! Aldara, cut it out!" Harry bit out, taking a playful swipe at his owl. The newly dubbed Aldara hooted arrogantly as she settled herself into Harry's now incredibly messy hair.

The Second Year giggled as her professor sighed in defeat. "As long as you don't leave 'presents' in my hair," he warned the nesting bird. Said bird hooted happily from her newfound perch.

Ignoring his pet, Harry turned to his student. "Now, as I was saying…"

---

Ginny, Hermione, Neville, and Ron were housed in the comforts of the squashy red chairs before the fire in the Gryffindor common room. Their dorm mates milled about, some doing their homework on the various tables, others playing games, such as Exploding Snap and Gobstones.

Their current topic of discussion was the enigmatic Professor Hamilton. Hermione had described to Ginny how he had seemed to suddenly appear in the back right corner of the room. Her narration had then continued on to the incredible duel he and Professor Dumbledore had engaged themselves in.

Ginny, in turn, told them how Professor Hamilton had swept into the room in a manner almost identical to that of Professor Snape. He had then asked them about what they had learned so far, and then passed out a syllabus and assignment schedule. They spent the remainder of the class time refreshing their memories on how to do the various spells, curses, and jinxes they had learned.

Their conversation then steered towards said professor's lack of facial expression.

"I wonder why. He doesn't smile or frown; he barely smiles when someone cracks a joke, and he never laughs," Hermione commented after observing the man both in class and at meal times.

"I know what you mean," said Ginny. "He seems to bottle it all up. And have you noticed how _young_ he is?"

"I don't get it," Ron inserted, "Why are you two getting so worked up about him?"

Neville, so far, had refrained from commenting, choosing instead to listen to the discussion.

"Of course you don't get it, Ron," Ginny sighed, exasperated, "You were always quite thick."

"What's that supposed to mean?" snapped Ron.

"Calm down, Ron," Hermione advised.

"I think the girls have a valid point," Neville stated, adding his two Knuts' worth. "He does act somewhat odd. He seems quite… stuffy, I suppose."

Ron stared blankly at the three of them.

"Oh, come on, Ron, haven't you noticed how he doesn't show any sort of emotion except perhaps boredom? It's not normal for someone to act that way. We all know how Malfoy's been brought up to hide his emotions, yet he is still prone to expressing them anyway." Hermione paused. "I wonder what happened to make him repress his feelings like that?" she almost murmured to herself.

"Maybe a traumatic past?" suggested Ginny, remembering her own experiences with Tom Riddle's diary and how she subsequently coped with the aftermath.

Each of them sat in contemplative silence, wondering about their enigmatic DADA professor's shadowy past.

---

Quidditch trials were long over. The teams were formed, practice sessions were hammered out. Harry watched as the Ravenclaw Quidditch team went through their practice from his reclined position against a shady tree by the lake. The giant squid, as far as Harry could tell, was sunbathing in the deeper end, its tentacles waving lazily about in the air. Movement caught his eye and he turned to witness the head of a mermaid glancing about before diving back beneath the surface. Relaxing, Harry savored the atmosphere. There was a cool crispness in the air that foretold the coming of a harsh winter.

A neat pile of parchment lay beside the young man, held down by an inkstand. The pleasant outdoor weather was too tempting for Harry to resist—ergo, here he was, grading Fourth Year homework assignments. A pleasing frost-touched breeze whispered through the leaves of trees—pleasant background music to the screams and laughter of the students.

Although Harry paid no heed, he idly wondered why Draco Malfoy, of all people, had been tailing him, however discretely. He decided to speak to his student at a later point in time. Meanwhile, he contemplated the merits of buying himself a new broom. The Ministry had confiscated the Firebolt that Sirius had given to him for Christmas his Third Year, along with all his other possessions, such as his father's invisibility cloak and Hagrid's gift of a photo album of his parents. The thought saddened him greatly.

"It has taken me quite a while to find you," a voice called.

Torpidly swiveling his head towards the speaker, Harry laid eyes on the approaching elderly Headmaster.

"I'm not hiding. You're just not good at seeking," was his bland rejoinder.

Albus chortled.

"What brings you out of your office, Albus?" asked Harry as the older man settled nearby in the grass. Harry's eyes narrowed a bit. "You're here to ask a favor, aren't you?"

The bearded man pouted. "Am I not allowed out of the prison of my office for rest and relaxation?" he moaned. Narrowing his eyes, he asked, "You heard that from the staff, didn't you?"

"I haven't the foggiest what you are talking about," Harry replied, his face a study of one in the clutches of ennui.

The Headmaster grumbled to himself before grinning as he stared out towards the lake. "I was pondering about your ability with martial arts and weaponry," he started.

_Oh, Merlin help me, Albus has been "pondering,"_ Harry thought with a touch of mental mock-desperation and sarcasm. _Hopefully it's not going to be some hair-brained scheme of his that is likely to get me killed._

"What do you think about a class that taught weaponry and Muggle martial arts?"

Harry blinked. Whatever he was expecting, it was _not_ that. "Er…" he answered intelligently.

"It would be a nice treat for the students," continued Albus blithely, unaware of his employee's bewildered state. "Many of the older Wizarding families train their children in the ways of the sword. And from what I've gathered, a good percentage of Muggle children learn some form of martial arts for enjoyment. A class combining both would be both educational and fun!" Dumbledore rubbed his hands together in obvious glee as he turned to observe the reaction of his DADA professor. He opened his mouth to continue.

"Albus," Harry said softly, interrupting the Headmaster's excited musings, "What about those that are treading down the path to being a Death Eater? I do not want my teachings to be used against innocents."

Albus' jaw shut with a click and his expression fell; he bowed his head sorrowfully. "It cannot be helped. To maintain equality and nondiscrimination, you would have to teach them all and somehow convince them that they are walking along a path that will lead to their destruction."

Harry sighed, a rare occurrence ever since his transformation. He realized that Albus was enamored of the idea and would stop at nothing to have his idea become a reality. "I'll do my best, Albus," Harry stated dourly.

"Excellent! I will see to the weapons you wish to teach, as well as any sort of protective gear they might need." Getting off the leaf-dotted grass, Albus Dumbledore left a brooding Defense Against the Dark Arts professor with a sprightly spring to his step.

"Barmy old coot," Harry muttered, slightly smirking. His grin disappeared when off in the distance, a whinny sounded somewhere in the direction of the Forbidden Forest. His brows furrowed as several Thestrals shot up above the treetops before wheeling around and diving back into the foliage with what could only be described as a "war cry."

Getting up off the cool grass, Harry shrunk both the stack of papers and the now covered inkstand and quill, tucked them into his robes, and strode determinedly towards the Forest while scanning the periphery for both curious students and any hints of danger. He immediately noted Malfoy was once again trailing him.

Cursing under his breath, he doubled back and strode about the grounds in no discernable pattern before giving the Malfoy heir the slip. Once he was safely hidden from the eyes of the castle, Harry stopped. _"Heed thy Master's call and come to my aid, Black Stallion,"_ he intoned.

Before him in the grass and brush, a circle of black light glowed, inscribed with intricate symmetrical shapes, runes, and phrases in an ancient language that Harry did not immediately recognize, yet could easily read. From the centre a small but veritable tornado of black smoke swirled, growing in size until it dissipated, revealing the stallion. The magic circle faded away completely.

The equine bowed gracefully, wings spread majestically. _"You called, my Liege?"_ it asked.

"_Yes. It seems I am in need of your abilities,"_ replied Harry. _"The Forest's Thestrals feel threatened. I wish to investigate,"_ Harry said as he approached the horse and mounted, bareback. Curling his fingers into the thick, silky mane, Harry urged the stallion up into the sky, barely remembering to cast a disillusionment charm on the both of them.

Flying over the Forbidden Forest, Harry and his winged steed quickly found the Thestrals dive-bombing a young Acromantula that was attempting to capture one of the Thestrals' young, none of which were old enough to fly. _Probably one of Aragog's offspring,_ Harry thought. _"Black Stallion, try to persuade the Thestrals to focus on protecting their young; we will herd the Acromantula towards its family."_

"_Of course, my Liege,"_ the steed replied before neighing loudly. The sound garnered the pair the attention of both the Thestrals and the Acromantula. The stallion nickered and snorted; the Thestrals whinnied their reply.

"_They will follow your orders,"_ the horse reported dutifully.

"_Good,"_ Harry said as he pulled his sword from its sheath and nudged the stallion in the ribs. Together they plunged harrowingly towards the ground, weaving through the tree branches. Harry made a deliberate swipe at the overly large spider. The arachnid reared onto its two hind pairs of legs, its anterior two pairs of legs spread in a defensive, yet threatening manner.

Without words man and mount understood that directing the spider needed to be done on the ground. Arcing back, the winged beast landed on the packed earth, its black hoofs clopping before it reared, feathered appendages spread to their fullest.

Brandishing his sword, Harry utilized the powers of the stallion and directed a jet of air to the ground towards the arachnid. A line of dirt exploded, knocking the spider off balance and showering everything in the vicinity with soil. The Acromantula backed up, its actions declaring to all its indecisiveness on its next course of action. Another well-placed explosion of earth sealed its choice, and the spider scuttled off deeper into the Forest.

Sheathing his sword, Harry dismounted and walked up to the horse's head. _"Thank you for your help,"_ he said.

"_It was my pleasure, my Liege,"_ the stallion replied before vanishing in another twister of black smoke.

Harry looked around, noticing how the Forest around him gave no indication of where the castle would be.

"Aw, bloody hell," he groaned, slapping a hand to his forehead and dragging it down his face. A whinny and a gentle nudge caused Harry to glance at the Thestral before him. It whinnied again and indicated that he ride on its skeletal back.

Harry smiled slightly as he pulled himself up.

---

The owls fluttered into the Great Hall, burdened with letters and packages, despite the chilly November drizzle. Harry relieved a bird of _The_ _Daily Prophet_ and placed seven bronze Knuts in the small leather pouch tied to the owl's leg. Said bird took off before Harry could offer a piece of bacon off his plate.

"_**HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED STRIKES AGAIN!**_

"_By Agatha Bering_

"_London, England—This morning, a massacre occurred in the Muggle suburbs of London early this morning. Fifty-three Muggles were killed in the raid…"_

Harry read through the article, brow furrowed in thought. _Doubtless Voldemort was happy about the raid. But if so, why did I not feel it?_

Dismissing the thought for later musings, Harry turned as the Headmaster tapped his goblet with a spoon and stood. The young professor internally grimaced as he realized what Albus was going to announce.

"I have but one announcement to make. Beginning this evening, a Martial Arts and Weaponry class will meet here for instruction. This class is not required for graduation, and all Years are permitted to attend. This class will be instructed by none other than Professor Hamilton, who has graciously volunteered to set aside time to teach his arts to you."

The announcement was met with excited whisperings throughout the Great Hall.

"The class will meet at seven; a schedule will be arranged then." Dumbledore sat down, looking immensely pleased with himself.

"Volunteered, my arse," Harry grumbled loud enough for the aged Headmaster to hear, "You foisted your pet project on me."

Dumbledore merely smiled serenely, his blue eyes twinkling.

"Albus, is such a class necessary?" Minerva asked from Dumbledore's other side. "The students could easily injure themselves."

"I have taken the liberty of informing Poppy," replied a nonplussed Dumbledore. "She will be ready for any incoming students."

Not wanting to hear any more of "his" newest class, Harry politely excused himself from the High Table. As he retreated to his classroom, he pondered the _Patronus_ problem, as he liked to call it in the privacy of his mind. He had been debating on whether or not to deviate from the Seventh Year syllabus and teach them the _Patronus_ charm—however, anyone who saw his stag would know instantly who he was. Prongs _was_ a rather unforgettable character.

He stopped walking, eyes narrowed as they stared ahead into the empty hallway and fingered his wand tucked away up his sleeve. "Would you mind my asking why you are following me, Mr. Malfoy?"

Turning around, he watched as the Slytherin youth stepped out from behind a suit of armor. Malfoy stood tall and proud despite the fact that he had been caught sneaking about red-handed.

Harry took the time to really study his former peer. Before his transformation, Malfoy had maintained an advantage of a few inches in height. Besides that, he appeared to not have changed much over the summer.

Now, after his transformation, Malfoy stood just below his horizontal line of sight. Vaguely Harry wondered if his father was ever this tall—height was determined by genes, after all. Malfoy's eyes were still the same slate gray; he still possessed the platinum blond hair and chiseled facial features so reminiscent of the Wizarding aristocracy.

"I was not following you, Professor. I had merely ducked out of the middle of the hallway to tie one of my shoelaces," the Slytherin smoothly lied.

"Forgive me," Harry said, controlling his annoyance, "I must admit I am a bit paranoid. Carry on, Mr. Malfoy." With that, Harry abruptly turned and swept down the hallway towards his quarters.

---

The Great Hall reverberated with the excited chatter of the entire student body as they eagerly awaited the beginning of the Martial Arts and Weaponry class. Students that were not originally interested were cajoled into going by their more eager classmates. Various members of the staff lingered, interested in what their fellow faculty member had to offer. Among the teachers were a giddy Albus Dumbledore, a fretting Minerva McGonagall, and glowering but curious Severus Snape.

The students quieted as Professor Hamilton entered, black silk robes and cloak fluttering in his wake. A gleaming silver sword, lightly embellished with black stone, adorned his left hip.

Stepping onto the platform that had been conjured earlier for this express purpose, Harry faced the expectant faces of Hogwarts. Clearing his throat loudly, he waited for the murmurs to die down.

"Good evening. Welcome to Martial Arts and Weaponry. I am, as you all know, Professor Hamilton. This class will teach you how to fight and defend yourself from harm both empty-handed and with weapons. I warn you now that this class will not be easy; it will require work and dedication, blood and sweat to master what I have to offer to you. Injuries will occur in this class; therefore I will _not_ tolerate horseplay of any form. None of the techniques learned in this class are to be used anywhere else; if I hear of any brawling in the hallways, I shall assign detentions that I guarantee will _not_ be pleasant."

Harry paused to let the severity of his warning sink in, throwing in a harsh glare to emphasize his point. Some of the students cowered under his stare while others straightened up, keen on proving themselves to the austere professor.

"Split up into four groups: those that know nothing about combat, form a group in the far left corner; those that know martial arts, form a group in the far right corner; those that know how to use weaponry, form a group in the front left corner; and those that know both martial arts and weaponry, form a group in the front right corner."

The group at the back left corner was the largest; the group in the front right corner was nonexistent. Harry noticed that all the students that knew hand-to-hand combat were Muggleborns and those of mixed heritage, while the students that were familiar with weaponry were exclusively Wizarding male children, Draco Malfoy among them.

"Those that know combat, further divide into groups based on what skills. For example, tae kwon do consists of one group, judo consists of another. Rapier is a group, dagger is another, etcetera, etcetera."

The martial arts students shuffled about into two groups, while the weaponry students remained clustered together. _All rapiers, I suppose,_ Harry thought. Conjuring enough self-sizing practice rapiers and protective pads for the weaponry group, he called them up to the platform, instructing them to put on the gear, pick up a weapon, and form a circle around him.

"I want all of your to attack me," he instructed twirling two conjured Chinese straight swords. The sword gifted to him by the Dementors remained sheathed at his side. "This is a gauge for me to see how well you perform. Don't worry about your fellow students; just focus on me as your target. My swords are charmed to immobilize and move you away from the scuffle if I deal a critical hit, so don't panic if you suddenly cannot move. You have a few minutes to warm up. Martial arts groups, I suggest you begin warming up as well."

The non-combative audience watched in fascination as the fighters warmed up, stretched, and loosened their muscles. Harry conjured more protective wear, enough for the martial arts kids.

"Why aren't you using the other sword you have there?"

Harry turned to gaze at the speaker: Draco Malfoy. The Sixth Year's eyes flicked from Harry's face to the sword and back again, slate grey eyes veiling his curiosity.

Harry reflexively grasped both the locket of his scabbard and the cross-guard of the hilt of his sword. He simply answered, "I will not use a live weapon against you."

Malfoy scoffed but turned away, continuing his warm-ups.

"Ready."

The rapier students stepped into their ready stances.

"Start."

The onlookers gazed in astonishment as the single professor disappeared under the onslaught of the twenty-four students. Immediately twelve of the students drifted back out of the fight, settling gently on the sides of the platform. The clash of metal against metal continued. After three minutes eight more students had been sidelined. Four remained, doing their best to take down their professor.

Harry moved fluidly, his clothing flowing around him as he blocked and parried their attacks, all the while dealing attacks of his own. Slashing downwards on one of his students, his sword breezed harmlessly through the lad as he froze and drifted away from the fray. With one less to worry about, Harry easily dispatched two more, leaving him alone with Draco Malfoy.

Sweat beaded the Slytherin's forehead as he attempted to deal his professor that critical hit. Blows met counterblows as they fought. Malfoy fell a minute after the last two.

Harry straightened from his follow through to the sound of thunderous applause from their audience. Only a slight heaving of his chest indicated his rather strenuous past eight minutes of exercise. Dispelling all of his conjured swords, Harry undid the immobilization spell that he used and watched as the students pick themselves off the floor and stand about uncertainly.

"Line up," Harry ordered. The students wasted no time forming a line across the platform. Harry marched parallel to the line in similar fashion to a sergeant before his troops. "I can tell some of you are new to the art, while others are more familiar with it." He saw some students' heads dip in shame. "That is no reason to be discouraged," he continued, "I am here to help you, but it is ultimately your choice whether or not to truly learn the art. You all did well. You can relax for the rest of the class."

The swords students took their cue and filed off the stage. Harry turned to his captivated audience. "The martial arts kids, please?"

The second group of students silently lined up while still maintaining their subgroups.

"Please tell me what you have been trained in," Harry stated.

"Tae kwon do."

"Judo."

_Huh. Guessed it on the dot,_ he thought with a mental grin. "Tae kwon do first. Circle around me; it's the same procedure as the rapier group. However, this protective gear will change from its original black color to a glowing red if I deal you a critical hit. Sit out after taking a critical hit. There are powerful cushioning charms on the gear, so none of you should be injured by this exercise."

Rolling his shoulders, Harry sunk into a ready position.

"Ready."

The students eased into their stances.

"Start."

Once again the single professor disappeared under the onslaught of fists and feet of fifteen students. Two students were knocked out on the first rush; several more fell after a few more minutes. After five minutes, all were down for the count.

The students lined up without having to be told. "You all did well, although there is still much for you all to learn. You are free to go."

The students neatly filed off the platform. Only two students remained.

"So you two practice judo?" Harry asked as he conjured a large mat on the platform.

They nodded stiffly.

"One-on-one. You first," Harry commanded, pointing to a rather rigid-looking Fifth Year. "Ready. Start."

The boy lasted a good two minutes before Harry had him pinned down. The other boy, a heavy-set Fourth Year, lasted about the same. They stood next to each other, flushed with a mixture of exertion, shame, and embarrassment.

"You two shouldn't be ashamed of yourselves," Harry told them quietly. You both did well." He slightly smiled. "Good job, both of you." Clapping their shoulders once, they exited.

Harry turned back to the audience and dispelled the protective gear that some of the students still wore. Others had already thrown them in a pile before the platform. "What you have seen here tonight is but a taste of what is to come," he addressed the audience. "If you are willing to put in the effort and time, I will do my best to train you to your fullest potential. A schedule of what is to be taught on what days will be posted within the next few days. I thank you all for coming; have a good evening all."

---

Severus Snape reclined in a leather armchair in his quarters, eyes vacantly staring into the fire. Tonight's demonstration revealed that Faustus Hamilton knew at least something in the way of physical combat. The Potions Master wondered how he would fare against the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor with a sword.

Snape scoffed. It was assumed that Hamilton would be bested. Growing up in a pureblood family steeped in tradition, he had been taught the art of the sword since the young age of seven. A veritable master of the weapon, he believed that it would be all too easy to defeat the young professor.

The class would be a topic that the Dark Lord would want information on. Severus knew that the Dark Lord would be pleased to hear that some of his future followers were being taught; on the other hand, his future opposition was also being taught. He absently wondered when his next report would take place.

His thoughts eventually made a loop back to the youthful instructor. There was something about him that was… odd, for lack of better terminology. He was young—twenty-two, to be exact. While he was indeed older, why did he not possess the exuberance that was so often displayed in others his age?

Perhaps he could stage a private conversation with the young man in the teacher's lounge. Perhaps he would glean a few bits of information concerning the man's past. He had been rather tight lipped about the subject if it were ever brought up.

The Potions Master furrowed his brows. _Who are you, Faustus Hamilton?_

---

Ron, Ginny, Hermione, and Neville were ensconced in the Room of Requirement, discussing their latest class with Professor Hamilton.

"That was bloody brilliant, the way he can do all those tricks, don't you agree?" Ron asked, obviously in awe of their DADA professor.

Neville tilted his head in thought. "His swordplay is nothing new," he stated.

The other three stared at him.

"What?" he asked defensively, "Most pureblood children are taught how to handle a sword." Ducking his head, he mumbled something indecipherable.

"What did you say, Neville?" asked Hermione.

Blushing, Neville gazed at his Gryffindor year mate and said quietly, "Even I was taught how, though I still can't do much."

Ginny gave Neville a reassuring smile. "Don't be embarrassed about it. At least you had the chance to learn." She sighed, her smile fading away. "I wish I had the chance to learn."

"But now you can," Hermione said softly with a smile at Ginny, "We have Professor Hamilton to teach us."

"I wish Harry were here," Ron murmured, "He would have loved to have done something like this."

The quartet fell into a melancholy silence.

---

A quarter to midnight found Harry in the Three Broomsticks, nursing a warm mug of Butterbeer in solitude. His thoughts were centered on the class that Albus had "volunteered" him into teaching and the students that would be eager to participate. Around him, a party of wizards and witches were gaily chattering, obviously inebriated. Harry snorted at the scene and took a swig of his drink.

A witch from the rather tipsy crew stumbled over towards him. She giggled as she plopped herself onto the barstool next to his and stroked his arm suggestively. "Hey there, sexy," she breathed, her breath smelling heavily of alcohol. "You look like you need a little cheering up. I'll make it worth your while," she finished with what she thought in her drunken state to be a sassy wink.

Harry finished his single mug of Butterbeer and stood. "I'm sorry, madam, but I'm afraid I have other business to take care of," he stated coldly, yet politely as he fished about for his money pouch in his cloak.

"Oh, come on, sugar," she purred, pulling him back down onto his seat, her arms wrapping around his neck. Before he could move she had leaned forwards and planted her lips on his in a heated kiss.

Harry stiffened, then relaxed as the heat from her lips transferred to his, as something light and absolutely _delicious_ wisped between them from her to him. Suddenly noticing how she had begun to grow cold from the skin-to-skin contact on his neck, Harry violently shoved her away, upturning both barstools and stumbling over his own, eyes wide with horror. He observed in his frozen terror how pale her flushed skin had become, how ragged her breathing became, how fine tremors wracked her body.

No one noticed the woman fall to the floor; the thud of her body was drowned out by uproarious laughter and animated talk.

_Oh, sweet mother of Merlin,_ he thought in a panicky state, _I nearly completed a Kiss on her! Even though she initiated it, I took approximately half of her soul before I realized what was going on!_ Harry nearly groaned in remembrance of what her soul tasted like. _It was so _good_… no words can describe it! No wonder it tempts my subjects so._ Harry gazed at the prone woman on the floor. Hesitantly, as if scared that his touch might inadvertently steal the rest of her soul, he picked her up and settled her on a regular chair in the most comfortable position he could manage.

Returning to his empty mug, he righted both his and the woman's barstools, placed the correct amount of money on the bar, and quickly left the pub, Streaming the instant he was out of sight of Hogsmeade.

He had no idea where he was going; the fact that he had nearly completed a Kiss on an innocent repeated itself around and around in his mind, leaving his mental faculties in complete turmoil. He collapsed onto a large, rough-hewn chunk of stone. _Stonehenge,_ he thought as he distractedly recognized his settings.

"_My Liege?"_ asked a group of Dementors on the ground that had Slipped from relatively near locales. _"What ails you?"_ they asked in worry.

"_I nearly completed a Kiss on an innocent! It was an accident!"_ Harry choked out. _"How do I not Kiss someone when they kiss me or if I kiss them?"_ He pounded a fist onto the stone in frustration. The three-stone structure vibrated and wobbled slightly on its two pillars, the rock gnashing together angrily. Harry swore under his breath as he lurched about on top of the teetering arrangement. Planting his feet, he leapt off the quivering arrangement, landing softly on the top of another.

The Dementors flitted about in consternation, worried for their Lord. When Harry jumped to a stable formation, they congregated, consorting with each other for a little while before turning back to their Lord Sovereign.

"_My Liege,"_ they said softly, almost apologetically, _"There is no way you can not Kiss someone when their lips touch yours. Neither of the previous Lord Sovereigns could find a way around this particular ability."_

Harry felt something within him wither. He could never kiss someone on the lips—ever again. To do so would mean an instant death of sorts for them. _ I can never express how much I like or love someone with a kiss on the lips anymore,_ he thought numbly. Granted, he really did not really have much experience in the area, it was painful for him to realize he could never gain that sort of experience. _Unless I had a nice snogging session with Voldemort for his soul,_ he thought sardonically. _Oh, what a conversation that would be! I can imagine it right now:_

"_Hey, Voldie, would you mind if I had a snogging session with you?"_

"_WHAT?"_

"_Oh, you know, I've always wanted to experience a kiss from my arch nemesis, the one known as the strongest Dark Lord in recent history… Come on, what do you say?"_

_Urgh,_ Harry thought with a shudder of revulsion. _No freaking way._

Curling up on top of his monolithic perch, Harry wrapped his cloak about himself to ward off the chilly night air and gazed up at the waning sliver of moon with a troubled, mournful expression. The Dementors arranged themselves around the structure their Lord was situated on, playing the role of silent bodyguards.

---

"My Lord," the Death Eater greeted as he bowed in respect to his Master.

"Rise, Severus. What news do you bring me?" asked Lord Voldemort.

The Death Eater straightened, keeping his eyes respectfully diverted from his Master's face. "My Lord, last night Dumbledore installed a new class taught by the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Faustus Hamilton. This new class teaches both weaponry and Muggle martial arts. Hamilton appears to be reasonably well versed in both forms of battle. As of now, he has demonstrated relative competence with the sword and in Muggle tae kwon do and judo."

Lord Voldemort leaned back into his seat to quickly ponder this new information. "Where do the man's loyalties lie, Severus?" the Dark Lord asked.

"I do not know, Master. He has acted in such a manner that does not indicate any sort of bias," Snape answered.

"Very well. Find out his loyalties, and report back to me within the week," Voldemort commanded.

"Of course, my Lord," Snape said with a bow.

---

Finally! Another chapter done! I hope you enjoyed it and please, review. This semester is going to be tough for me; Chinese really eats up my time. My apologies for the tardiness.

-Tal.

---

Completed: 1.29.2007

Edited: 2.2.2007

Re-edited: 1.7.09

---


	9. Chapter VIII: Slytherin Encounters

Harry Potter characters do not belong to me but to J.K. Rowling.

---

In Terms of a Name

By Taliya

---

Chapter VIII: Slytherin Encounters

---

"Very well. Find out his loyalties, and report back to me within the week," Voldemort commanded.

"Of course, my Lord," Snape said with a bow.

---

True to his word, Professor Hamilton had a schedule up two days after his introductory Martial Arts and Weaponry class. The students soon learned to use the acronym "MAW" to refer to the class. Sessions were two hours each; there were introductory and advanced classes for the assorted arts offered: sword, tae kwon do, and judo. Two other types of martial arts or weaponry had to be requested and approved with a class size of at least ten interested students. Sword classes took Mondays, tae kwon do took Tuesdays, and judo took Wednesdays. All classes were in the evenings from seven to nine. Special request classes took up the Thursday and Friday slots.

Even with the new classes and thus, a busier schedule, the next few weeks found Professor Hamilton more reticent and detached than usual, if that were at all possible. There seemed to be a haunted look about his eyes, a deep, somber despondency that seemed to physically weigh him down. If he caught couples together after curfew during his rounds after hours, he would quietly deduct points from their respective houses and dismiss them. Those he encountered did not argue with him and told their dorm mates how his eyes held an indescribable pain that somehow made them want to reach out to him.

Defense Against the Dark Arts classes with Professor Hamilton were the same as before—he was still just as strict, but there was, again, that heavy, leaden gloom that he seemingly carried about everywhere with him. Ideas circulated within the student body as to how to cheer him up, but his taciturn manner quickly killed the courage needed to follow through.

Individual members of the faculty had also noticed their colleague's sudden depression but were unable to help, for he politely rebuffed their entreaties to talk. Severus noticed but deigned the matter unworthy of his personal interaction with the man—he chose instead to observe. Minerva wondered if the stress of the added Martial Arts and Weaponry class was the source and fretted over the young man's health—she had taken a motherly liking to the quiet, solitary youth. Albus was at a loss of what to do, considering he did not know the young man very well, and therefore was unable to find something that could lighten his burdened spirit.

Both staff and students walked on eggshells around their DADA professor. His despondent mood seemed to lend him the air of a bomb waiting for a trigger instead of the air of a man with clinical depression.

---

Harry had decided, during one of his bouts of moodiness, not to teach the _Patronus_ Charm to his Seventh Years. The risk of someone recognizing Prongs was too great. He muttered darkly to himself as he traversed the hallways towards the Great Hall.

Having since eased out of his weeks-long stupor, Harry could not help but feel just a _tad_ bit angry and resentful. _What deity in Circe's name did I piss off enough in a past life to warrant this sort of punishment?_ he mentally snarled. _Why can't my life be normal and boring like everyone else on this blasted planet?_

To work out his frustration, Harry had taken to practicing his martial arts, swordsmanship, and other forms of weaponry in the Room of Requirement, battling animated dummies that the Room created for his personal use. He immensely enjoyed the workouts, as they both helped him keep his skills sharp and gave him a sense of accomplishment.

Stepping into the Great Hall, Harry swept in, his silk robes gliding behind him with soft swishing sounds. Chatter continued, although it momentarily dimmed ever so slightly at his appearance. His tightly leashed anger fairly simmered beneath his skin.

Settling himself at his customary seat at the High Table, Harry opted to serve himself a Muggle-inspired lunch of smoked turkey and Swiss cheese sandwich quarters dressed with Romaine lettuce, tomatoes, red onions, pickles, and slathered with chipotle-flavored mayonnaise. A side of spicy barbeque flavored kettle cooked potato crisps and a single pickle spear complimented his entrée.

"Interesting choice for a meal, Hamilton," Severus remarked as he eyed the plate with a raised brow. He himself had opted for something a little more substantial.

Harry took a bite of one of his sandwich quarters. "It's something I like," he commented tonelessly after swallowing. He tossed a crisp into his mouth, the deep-fried potato slice crunching loudly.

Taking a last swig of his specifically requested iced tea with lemon, Harry polished off his lunch. He lingered for a little while, reluctantly participating in the small talk that Albus and Minerva continually tried to engage him in before excusing himself from the table.

"Faustus," a voiced called, stopping Harry from quitting the Great Hall.

Turning, Harry found the Potions Master stiffly walking up to him. Both students and faculty quieted immediately and looked on with unabashed curiosity.

"Professor Snape," Harry greeted neutrally, "What may I do for you?"

"I am curious about your skill as a user of weaponry. Perhaps we could cross blades in a friendly duel?" Snape proposed. His inquiry fulfilled two purposes:

1.) He wanted to gain information for the Dark Lord so that he would not be punished too severely, if at all; and

2.) He wanted to satiate his own curiosity about the man's abilities.

Harry studied the Slytherin Head of House, suspecting ulterior motives: namely, digging for information due to a request from Voldemort. However, seeing as how the entire school was watching attentively, Harry closed his eyes and nearly sighed, refraining from pinching the bridge of his nose. Snape _had_ asked nicely, which in and of itself was nothing short of a miracle; it would be rude to turn down his offer.

"What time would be best for you?" Harry asked, somewhat resignedly.

Snape blinked. His colleague had been silent for so long he was somewhat worried his offer would be turned down. Regaining his composure almost instantaneously, he replied, "How about this weekend: Saturday evening, here in the Great Hall at eight?"

Harry nodded. "I'll be there."

---

The second weekend of November came without any hitches. Harry's moodiness had finally faded away, leaving the residents of the Hogwarts castle heaving sighs of relief. The amount of anticipation and excitement in the air rivaled that of the Triwizard Tournament. The students tittered and whispered eagerly as Saturday's supper drew to a close.

It was approximately half-past seven. The students left the Great Hall in clusters, chattering excitedly about the events to come within an hour's time.

Harry sat at his place at the High Table, watching the students leave. His sensitive hearing could hear the various conversations, all of which were concerned with the mock duel to take place between Professor Snape and himself. His eyes briefly flicked over to observe his "opponent."

Snape had just finished his glass of pumpkin juice. Standing, he strode over to halt before Harry. "I'll see you in approximately half an hour."

Harry nodded, and the Potions Master left in a swirl of black robes.

Rising, Harry bid the other members of the staff farewells, and headed towards his quarters. His jaw clenched as he sensed Malfoy once again following him. An idea came to him. It was sneaky. It was underhanded. It was absolutely _Slytherin_.

Harry entered his rooms, all the while keeping tabs on the young Malfoy. Grabbing a book off his bookshelf—he did not care which one—he waved his other hand about, wandlessly setting the trap in near the entrance. Touching the door to infuse it with a spell, he then left his rooms, purposefully, yet seemingly carelessly leaving the door to his quarters almost unnoticeably ajar. He sighed gustily, somewhat loudly muttering about how Albus had asked to meet with him right before a duel with Severus. Grumbling to himself he walked down the hall with a small frown imprinted on his face and turned a corner.

---

Draco watched, hidden behind a corner, as Professor Hamilton entered his rooms, only to emerge a few minutes later with an old tome under his arm. Disgruntled muttering could be heard about Dumbledore as he walked off in the direction towards the Headmaster's Tower.

The Sixth Year Slytherin eyed the door to Professor Hamilton's abode. It seemed that in his haste, the young professor had not closed the door properly. Checking to ensure that the coast was clear, Draco quietly crept around the corner. His curiosity was strong; the Sixth Year knew that a person's room, or in this case, quarters, revealed much about said person.

His desire to know more about the quiet, tight-lipped professor overrode the more Slytherin trait of cautiousness. Glancing about once more, Draco pressed his hand on the door. Before he could react, he was jerked gracelessly through the door. Yelping, he landed in a heap in the carpeted living room of the professor's quarters. Getting off the floor with an injured sense of dignity, Draco came up nose to wand point with Professor Hamilton.

_Oh, bloody hell,_ Draco thought, gulping as he took in the professor's rather dark expression.

"Care to explain to me, Mr. Malfoy, what you are doing in my quarters?" Harry asked softly, an undercurrent of something rather unpleasant lacing his words.

Draco barely kept from gaping like a fish at seeing his professor in his own quarters when he had clearly seen the man on his way towards the Headmaster's Tower. Had the man apparated _within_ Hogwarts, when know-it-all Granger had mentioned apparition was supposed to be impossible? "Wha-what are you doing _here_?" Draco blurted out before immediately biting the inside of his lower lip while furiously berating himself for his momentary lapse in control of his tongue.

Harry had to keep his lips from twitching at the humor he found in the situation. It was not often that the silver-tongued Malfoy was at a loss for words. "What am I doing here, Mr. Malfoy? I _live_ here," he blandly stated, gesturing casually at the room behind him with his free hand while studying the prostrated student.

To Draco it appeared as if the professor was sizing him up—and apparently found him somewhat lacking. The Slytherin puffed up at the unspoken insult. Lowering his wand, Harry turned, gesturing for the Malfoy heir to follow. Draco's sense of injured pride melted away and he looked nervously about, studying the interior before following his professor.

The décor was dark and understated, but dignified and undeniably masculine. A dark-wooded built-in bookshelf was filled to the brim with countless tomes, save for a single slot in which Draco assumed was where the book Hamilton had toted was housed. Carved black marble figurines of artfully posed winged creatures graced his mantelpiece on the wall opposite the bookshelf. A set of black leather furniture sat opposite the fireplace; a low mahogany coffee table completed the arrangement. The aforementioned missing tome was lying innocently on the coffee table. Several ivory, softly scented candles hung suspended in strategic areas, lending the room a mysterious, yet comfortable feel. A partially opened door near the fireplace revealed a neatly organized bedroom. Overall, the decoration was fairly Spartan in nature, and, in Draco's opinion, extremely tasteful.

Harry settled himself into the armchair, gesturing for Draco to take the opposite seat. Draco rigidly lowered himself onto the sofa.

"You never answered my question, Mr. Malfoy," Harry commented calmly, icy blue eyes boring into Draco's slate gray ones.

Draco mentally cursed. How was he going to dig himself out of this one? "I was looking for a place where I could practice for my practical in Charms tomorrow," Draco lied, mentally patting himself on the back for a good save. "The door was ajar; I thought it was an unused classroom."

Harry just gave Malfoy a long stare complete with a raised brow, one that clearly stated, "You honestly expect me to believe that load of shite?"

Fidgeting under his professor's relentless stare, Malfoy awkwardly admitted the truth. "Actually, sir, I came in hoping I could learn more about you."

Both Harry's eyebrows shot up near his hairline. While he had learned Legilimency and how it worked, Harry made a vow to himself not to invade the minds of his students or colleagues unless information was needed in a dire situation. Therefore, the Malfoy heir's response was highly unanticipated.

The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

Draco, flushed a pale pink from embarrassment and shame, snapped out, "You heard me," before adding on a more respectful, "sir."

Harry leaned back into his chair. _Malfoy wanted to learn more about me? Most likely he is, like Snape, digging for information. However, this is the _best_ scenario I can possibly imagine to try to change his mind. The boy has such a sharp mind; pity it's so clouded by prejudice._

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Harry turned his somewhat scheming gaze on the Slytherin. Maybe…

"Mr. Malfoy," Harry began, startling the Sixth Year, "Since you've stated that you've taken some sort of interest in knowing more about me, do you have any questions you want to start off with?" He briefly glanced at the watch he had bought while shopping in Diagon Alley. It read seven fifty-two.

It was Draco's turn to blink. He had expected his professor to rage and rant about how his privacy was invaded and to deduct House points. He had not expected to be sitting in his living room having a civilized conversation. "Er…"

_Come on, Drake, can you be any more eloquent?_ he thought sarcastically to himself.

"Well, I suppose for starters, how old you are and where were you born?" the Slytherin asked.

Harry promptly answered, barely hiding his smirk, "I am twenty-two years of age."

A gobsmacked Draco's jaw dropped.

"And I was born in Austin, Texas, in America to a Wizard father and a Muggleborn Mother; moved to London when I was about thirteen years old," Harry finished. It was what he had written in his résumé, at any rate—part of it was true as well.

"You're _twenty-two_?" Draco repeated, clearly unable to come to terms with the fact that his Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was that young. He acted so bloody _old_ for his age!

Harry shrugged. "I was orphaned at a young age. I proved to the U.S. MORB that despite my age, I could handle doing everything on my own."

"U.S. MORB?" queried Draco.

"United States Magical Ordnance and Regulations Bureau," Harry answered.

"Oh," was the somewhat dumbstruck response.

Glancing at his watch, Harry rose from his seat. "Come, Mr. Malfoy, I have an appointment at eight and do not wish to be tardy. Perhaps we can finish this conversation another time."

Draco obediently followed, immensely grateful that his professor did not pursue any sort of punishment.

"Oh, and Mr. Malfoy? Ten points from Slytherin for lying to me," Harry said as they traveled through the various corridors.

_I spoke too soon,_ Draco glowered as they both headed towards the Great Hall.

---

The Great Hall was abuzz, similar to the first night of Harry's first Martial Arts and Weaponry class. Students clustered around the conjured dueling platform, sitting in the benches arranged around the stage. The High Table remained, where the Hogwarts staff sat to watch.

Harry arrived in the Great Hall, Draco in tow, two minutes until the hour. Separating from the Malfoy heir, Harry stepped up onto the platform. Severus swept into the Great Hall moments later, a sword strapped to his hip. The Potions Master approached the platform and climbed the steps.

The Headmaster then stood up, the students instantly hushing each other. "Good evening. Tonight, we are gathered to witness a duel of blades between Blade Master Severus Snape, and Martial Arts and Weaponry Professor Faustus Hamilton."

The two professors pulled their swords out from their respective scabbards. They each took a few minutes to warm up, all the while discretely observing their opponent.

Severus held an aged, but well kept rapier of a simple, yet elegant design. It was lightly built, but Harry knew that the blade was extremely sturdy, considering the enchantments he sensed were built into it.

Harry himself wielded the Blade of Darkness, as he had dubbed the nameless heirloom since everything about him seemed to inherit the word "Darkness" when taken in context with his Dementor subjects.

Indicating to the Headmaster that they were both ready, Dumbledore stood once again. "Gentlemen, honor your opponent." Holding the hilt at nose level with the point up towards the enchanted ceiling, they swiped their swords downwards to their right.

"_En garde,"_ they both murmured in unison, snapping into their preparatory stances with a crispness and preciseness that amazed their audience. Time seemed to freeze, nobody moving, breathing, or blinking as they waited for the action to begin.

Harry stared Snape in the eyes, waiting, anticipating that burst of fire in the eyes, the minute muscle tensing that heralded the beginning of an attack. Lifetimes of experience honed the young man's reaction to almost instantaneous.

A twitch. And they were off. Metal clashed against metal as they attacked, blocked, lunged, and parried. Harry began on a more cautious note, carefully withholding much of his skill, speed, and strength. Although his technique was perfect, he was a touch too slow. Severus scored a hit, the point of his rapier razing his left arm.

The combatants stepped back to the gasps of the crowd. Harry quickly inspected the damage. It was shallow, a topical wound, however much it bled. Looking up at Severus, he nodded. "Three," he said, and the Potions Master knew what he meant.

They were at it again; steel squealing against steel, grunting with the force of their blows. Harry relaxed his control over his physical enhancements slightly and managed to scratch Snape twice, while Severus gained one more hit on Harry, bringing his total up to two. Whoever caused the final scratch would be declared the winner of the match.

Harry wiped the sweat off his forehead. _Snape's really giving me a workout!_ he thought with a slight grin. _I haven't had this much fun in a while, Quidditch notwithstanding!_

The last clash between the swordsmen was the most spectacular event of the evening. While their previous skirmishes were to try to scrape each other, they were both extremely determined to be the one to have the final honor. There was a vigorousness and intensity that was not there before. The blades glinted in the candlelight, flashing in time to their seemingly choreographed dance of death.

Without warning a sword went flying across the Great Hall, causing many students to duck. It sunk itself into one of the massive doors that lead to the rest of the school, quivering with the force of its momentum.

All eyes turned back to the platform to find Severus Snape on his back, a sword barely grazing his throat. The two professors stared at one another before Harry withdrew and sheathed his sword before holding his hand out. Snape hesitantly took the offered hand and allowed Harry to help him to his feet.

Snape dusted himself off before gazing at the victor. "Congratulations for your victory," he stated stiffly, "It's been an honor."

"Thank you. You are a worthy opponent," Harry complimented.

Severus relaxed a bit after Harry's comment. They nodded at each other to the cheers and applause of staff and students.

---

"Come closer, my precious allies," Voldemort summoned, gesturing to the tall, black-robed figures. Curling black smoke emanated from where their legs would have been; their faces were firmly shadowed by their hoods. They slowly approached the pale skinned man, their breaths rattling eerily.

The frigid air, artificially created by the magical beings, hung stagnant and thick in the great room. The fear that characterized a Dementor's approach wrapped itself around and within Voldemort; the man stubbornly refused to give in to his inner demons, maintaining his façade.

"My prized Dementors, I have called you here tonight so that I may ask you this: in exchange for any and all souls baring my own and perhaps my Inner Circle, would you do me the honor of crowning me your Lord?" Despite his strong, confident exterior, the Dark Lord was actually somewhat anxious—however much he denied it to himself. He had no references on how to accomplish such a deal with the Dementors, considering it had either never been done before, or such a deed was never recorded.

The Dementors as a whole recoiled as soon as the last word left his thin lips, their rattling breaths changing to urgent clicks and screeches. The Dark Lord watched in tense curiosity as they quieted, as if coming to some sort of agreement. The one closest to him silently extended an emaciated hand, showing all five bony fingers.

Without noise they turned and agitatedly quit the room. That late November evening, they left behind a rather stunned and bewildered Dark Lord wondering what was so significant about the number five.

---

The last week of November brought the first light flurries of snow. As the week passed, the gentle wisps changed into the raging howls of a blizzard before dying to gentle flakes once more. The castle was draftier than ever, students walked in tight clusters to ward off the winter chilliness.

The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom maintained a relatively comfortable temperature, courtesy of a line of magical fire that burned a bluebell color along the edges of the room.

Classes were all gearing towards end-of-term exams, DADA included. Harry was finally nearing the three-quarters point of his multiple syllabi. He heaved a mental sigh as the last class of the day filed out of his classroom door.

Rolling his shoulders, he stretched his back and decided to spend the rest of the time before dinner enjoying the outdoors with the help of a warming charm.

Pulling on a thick winter cloak, Harry made his way outside, passing bundled up students scurrying through the drafty halls. With a wave of his hand, the giant doors to the outdoors opened, blasting frigid air and snow into his face.

Unperturbed, Harry stepped out, the doors automatically closing behind him. The warming charm cast, he proceeded to walk about the snow-littered grounds. The lake had frozen over. Harry absently wondered how both the giant squid and the merpeople survived under the ice. Shrugging, he transfigured his shoes into ice skating boots and stepped onto the lake.

After wobbling and falling a few times, Harry managed to get the hang of ice skating. The smooth gliding of his feet, combined with the snowy landscape allowed Harry to relieve tension that he did not know he had. Grinning slightly to himself, he became more daring in his moves, progressing from the simple straightforward skating to easy flips and spins. This, in turn, progressed into the more complicated jumps and combination spins that he had only seen on the screen in his mind, a memory of a few souls fortunate enough to have been able to practice the sport. Of course, he had his fair share of spills in the process, all of which were softened with cushioning charms.

Hours flew by, and Harry paid no heed of the time. As the daylight faded away into twilight, Harry subconsciously released several spheres of energy, all of which sank into the ice itself, illuminating the surface from below with a strong, ethereal white glow.

As Harry skated about, a rusty laughter bubbled up from his throat. It was fun, and it was different. Quidditch was about the thrill of the chase, the competition between Seekers to catch the Snitch first. With the duel with Severus, it was again a competition, a desire to prove one's prowess and superiority with the blade.

This was different. There was no competition; only himself, the ice, and the sensation of flying—so achingly similar to riding on a broom with the sky as his only companion. Harry jumped, executing a triple toe-triple toe combination with grace and nailing both of the landings. Finishing with a scratch spin, Harry slowly glided around the lake, cheeks flushed and out of breath as he began cooling off.

"Wicked!"

The custom made wand was immediately pulled out and aimed at an unsuspecting Ronald Weasley. Although his reaction was still extremely quick, to Harry, it was noticeably slower due to his state of exhaustion. He blinked as he then noticed that most of the student and staff population was there, watching him even as they shuddered with the cold.

Harry pushed himself towards the banks, transfiguring his shoes back to normal with the help of his wand once he was ashore. Another wave and the glowing lake dimmed into darkness. Harry slid his wand back into his holster and supported himself with his hands on bent knees.

"Faustus!" called a jovial voice.

Already knowing who it was, Harry did not bother to glance up. "What are you lot doing out here?" he panted.

"Wonderful show, my boy! If I had known you were going to do that, I might have set up a little spell that would allow us to see you from the Great Hall," the Headmaster exclaimed, his breath condensing upon contact with the icy atmosphere. "A glowing lake is rather hard to miss," Albus added with a twinkle in his eyes.

"I see," Harry grumbled as he straightened up and began his trek back to the castle, everyone else following. Upon entering, Harry headed straight for the Great Hall, wanting to see if dinner was still going on. To his disappointment, dinner had long since passed; it was already eight forty-two.

"You missed dinner," Albus said, slightly startling the younger man. "I suggest heading towards the kitchens to find a bite to eat. Would you like me to accompany you?"

"No thank you, Albus, that is not necessary," Harry replied politely. "Thanks for the offer, though."

The aged Headmaster nodded. "Very well, I shall take my leave. The ever-growing piles of paperwork call," he said, sighing in a melodramatic manner.

Grinning slightly at the older man's antics, Harry shook his head and began his journey to the kitchens. Harry took little notice of the Malfoy heir's newfound habit of trailing him—he was slightly too tired to care at the moment. He suddenly froze, feeling his subjects approaching.

_Shit,_ he swore as he tore down the hallways, knowing it was only a matter of time before the professors and students would feel the effects of the Dementors. Sensing Draco following him, he mentally swore once again and turned a corner. Once out of sight of the youth he utilized the inhuman speed he possessed. As he neared the front door he could sense the cold had noticeably grown; so much to the point that he knew with certainty that the professors were on their way out the fend off the dark cloaked creatures.

Pushing the doors open with a heave, Harry sprinted across the grounds, locating the darkened mass of ragged cloth. His keen hearing picked up the somewhat anxious rattling of their breaths. Immediately he knew something was wrong.

Shouts behind him signaled the arrival of the professors; he had to act quickly. Shouting as loud as he dared in their tongue, he rattled, _"Don't come here! The humans will fight you! I'll send a _Patronus_ after you; appear as though you are retreating! I'll meet up with you later!"_

Reverting to English, Harry yelled, _"Expecto Patronum!"_ All the while praying to every deity out there that his _Patronus_ would not be the recognizable stag.

The Dementors turned tail and fled from the multiple white forms that exploded from Harry's wand. Harry himself had stopped running and was staring, his mouth hanging slightly open. His _Patronus_ was no longer Prongs, the Animagus form of his father.

Luminescent spheres the size of cantaloupes drifted about, now that the Dementors had gone. They were blue-tinted and pearly, yet iridescent, with ever-changing colored tails that streamed behind them. Soft, comforting murmurs echoed from them. _Souls,_ Harry belatedly realized, _My _Patronus_ consists of souls._

The Dementors gone, the _Patronus_ souls faded away, leaving all the professors present rather gobsmacked. Harry blinked once, then again, and physically shook himself out. _Well, that solves the _Patronus_ problem with my Seventh Years,_ he thought sardonically before the shock overtook him and he keeled over in a dead faint.

---

The first thing he noticed was how dark the place was: he could not see anything at all. The second thing he noticed were the soft incoherent mutters that seemed to surround him, coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once. The third thing he noticed was the distinct taste of Honeyduke's best chocolate on his tongue.

Pale, icy blue eyes groggily fluttered open to focus on the dimly lit, sterile white ceiling of the Hogwarts Hospital Wing. A rather cross Madam Pomfrey stood to his side, a boulder-sized hunk of chocolate on the nightstand next to his bed.

"Dreadful creatures," she muttered, "Coming onto the school grounds! The dratted things should be guarding Azkaban, not roaming about here!" She mumbled some more under her breath, stopping once she realized her patient was awake.

"Faustus! How dare you scare us all like that!" she railed, "Do you have any idea what you were getting yourself into? Oh, of course you do, you're the DADA professor for Merlin's sake!" She shoved a fist-sized chunk of chocolate in his hand. "Eat this," she commanded, "Only then are you allowed to leave. Albus would like to see you as soon as you are able." Turning, she headed towards her office, muttering darkly about his hapless subjects the entire time.

Harry blinked as he stared at the Mediwitch's still open doorway. The Dementors honestly did not affect him—he was one, for Circe's sake—but the unexpected comprehension that he would not see Prongs again had hurt more than he could handle.

Biting the piece of chocolate rather like an apple, Harry got out of the bed and strolled out the door, bolting the moment he heard the Mediwitch's shout of dismay.

In due time he made it back to his quarters, partially melted chocolate in hand. Setting it on the coffee table on top of a napkin, Harry washed his hands and face. He had one more meeting with Albus to go to; his subjects would have to wait.

---

Various members of the Hogwarts staff crowded into the Headmaster's office. All of these professors had been called primarily because of their ability to produce a corporeal _Patronus_. Currently they were sitting in the Headmaster's flowery couch conjurations, all discussing the newest member of the faculty's _Patronus_—all save Albus, who was ensconced in his chair and sucking a lemon drop, and Severus, who leaned against a darker corner and generally frowned upon the entire situation.

A knock on the door quieted everyone. "Come in, Faustus," Albus called from his seat.

The door opened to allow the youthful professor in. Nodding to those present, he asked, "You asked for me, Albus?"

"Yes, my dear boy, I did. Please, sit." Albus indicated another flowery armchair that he conjured. As Harry settled himself, the Headmaster cleared his throat. "Faustus, what you did tonight was extremely brave of you. Your _Patronus_ was simply spectacular. However, we are curious—what was your _Patronus_, and why were there so many? As of now, no one has been able to create multiple _Patroni_ with a single incantation."

Harry's mind raced. _How to explain such a phenomenon?_ Taking a deep breath, he plunged in. "I really can't tell you," he said with a shrug, "I don't know. This is the first time I've been able to cast multiple _Patroni_ with a single incantation. I've never done that before."

Albus' heavy white brows furrowed thoughtfully as the other staff members discussed the idea amongst themselves.

"Has your _Patronus _or _Patroni_ always been those…?" Albus trailed off, clearly in the dark about the iridescent orbs of light.

"Yes," Harry lied with a straight face, "My _Patronus_ has always been those orbs of light. Except there usually was only one." He opted to neglect informing them that the orbs were actually souls. Somehow, he got the feeling the information would not be well received.

"Could you have just pushed more energy into the spell, creating more of them?" asked Pomona Sprout, the Herbology professor.

"It doesn't work that way, Pomona," squeaked Filius Flitwick, the Charms professor. "Pushing more magical energy into the spell simply increases the intensity and strength of the spell. It does not cause the spell to split into multiple spells." The diminutive teacher looked to the Headmaster for confirmation.

"Filius is correct. I myself have tried to split a single spell into multiple spells with a single incantation. It is something I am willing to guess the Unspeakables in the Department of Mysteries would do much to understand why spell splitting cannot be done."

Harry mentally groaned. _Ye gods, _why_ can't I be normal?_ Looking about the office and seeing his colleagues deep in thought, he asked, "Are there any more questions?" When no one answered, he stated, "Well, you know where to find me." With that, he left the office, leaving his pensive peers behind.

---

Stonehenge was just as he remembered; the giant monoliths stood defiantly against the cold, cloudy night. The timeless structures had held their own against the elements, and would continue to do so for ages to come.

Black smoke swirled about the feet of the single being that stood in the centre of the arrangement. The black cloak and robes the figure wore were of a rich, nameless fabric embroidered with silver thread; a beautifully wrought sword hung on his left hip. A silver medallion hung from his neck, resting on his sternum.

"_Come, my subjects, thy Master calls,"_ Harry intoned. The curling black smoke flared out farther from him, allowing the summoned Dementors shadows to emerge from. Within a few minutes' time, all the Dementors had assembled, all gathered around their chosen leader.

"_You called, my Liege?"_ they asked as one as they bowed.

"_Indeed I have. Earlier tonight several of you sought to find me. What matter was so urgent that you risked the pain of several _Patroni_?"_ Harry asked.

"_The Evil One summoned us this evening with a special request. He asked us to crown him Lord Sovereign of Darkness. While we know we cannot do this, we thought it prudent to ask for your orders on how to handle this matter. We understand your desire to be discrete with your title. Five nights from now he will await our answer. What is your will?"_ one of them asked.

"_Where is he located?"_ Harry asked.

"_His paranoia is great. He has enchanted a mansion to be unplottable and undetectable by magical means. We can follow his summons with ease, but another enchantment confounds the senses, disabling them from orienting oneself properly. We can find the location only by his summons,"_ the Dementor explained.

_Bullocks!_ Harry thought, frustrated. _"Thank you for your information," _he said,_ "It has been most helpful to me."_

"_We live to serve, my Liege,"_ they all replied.

"_When he summons you next, inform me. I wish to drop by for a little visit,"_ Harry said with a small smirk.

"_As you wish, my Liege."_

---

Thank goodness, another chapter done! I hope you enjoyed it and please, review. I am basing my story off the books, not the movie, so Harry has not seen a soul before. Also, I am a geology major, so I am allowed my liberties—"MORB" stands for mid-ocean ridge basalt. Nice useless tidbit of information for all you non-geo majors (which is almost everybody).

-Tal.

---

Completed: 3.19.2007

Edited: 3.22.2007

Re-edited: 1.7.09

---


	10. Chapter IX: Confrontations

Harry Potter characters do not belong to me but to J.K. Rowling.

---

In Terms of a Name

By Taliya

---

Chapter IX: Confrontations

---

"_When he summons you next, inform me. I wish to drop by for a little visit,"_ Harry said with a small smirk.

"_As you wish, my Liege."_

---

Harry stood before his bathroom mirror, gazing at his reflection. Those light-hued, glacier-like eyes gazed back at him, a stark contrast to the thick, but tame black mop atop his head. Concentrating, Harry released the Metamorphmagus magic, watching as his eyes darkened from pale blue to vibrant green. His famed lightning bolt scar faded into view. His hair writhed a bit as it reverted to its naturally wavy nature. His bone structure reverted back with subtle shifts in the nose, chin, and cheeks. His height had remained the same, just to make it easier for himself to remember. The iron collar that had been placed on his neck upon his entrance into Azkaban lay useless, having short-circuited sometime during his transformation. He could not get the blasted thing off, so it remained, a silent, sorrowful testament of the Wizarding world's callousness.

Harry Potter looked back at him in the mirror, pale and solemn. He curled a hand into a fist before opening it up again to study the sharp black claws. He gazed at himself in the mirror for a little while.

_I am Harry James Potter, son of Lily and James Potter, known in the Wizarding world as the Boy-Who-Lived. A prophesized child destined to either kill or be killed by a near-immortal Dark Lord._

_I am Faustus Hamilton, Hogwarts' resident Defense Against the Dark Arts and Martial Arts and Weaponry professor. A young man who hides his pain and loneliness behind a façade of impassiveness._

_I am the Lord Sovereign of Darkness, immortal leader of the Dementors and other dark creatures of exceptional power. A being of virtually limitless power, both destined and damned to an eternity of solitude._

_How do I reconcile these three aspects, these three facets of me when they seem so incompatible, yet inseparable?_

_Harry Potter needs Faustus Hamilton to disguise the pain of being placed on a pedestal by the Wizarding world. Faustus Hamilton is a guise to hide the isolation caused by being the Lord Sovereign of Darkness. The Lord Sovereign of Darkness would not exist without Harry Potter._

_Harry Potter has to be the Lord Sovereign of Darkness in order to possess the "power the Dark Lord knows not". The Lord Sovereign of Darkness utilizes Faustus Hamilton to maintain a pretense of normalcy. Faustus Hamilton needs the experience of Harry Potter, among others, in order to bequeath knowledge and understand others his own age and younger._

Harry shook his head, rubbing his temples to stall the beginnings of what promised to be a pounding migraine. His mind was whirling, thoughts darting to and fro with no seeming order or connectedness. It was so incoherent, even to him, and it was his own mind.

_Bollocks,_ he thought grumpily. _I feel as though a blacksmith is pounding away on the anvil that is my head._

Deciding he needed to go for a walk to clear his mind a bit, Harry left his quarters, determined to go outside even though it was still snowing. He threw on a thick, but simple black cloak—much like a student's and not made of the usual silks—slipped his wand into its holster, and left his rooms, checking to make sure it was securely locked and warded.

It was almost eight thirty. Most of the students would by now be sequestered in their common rooms, even with the early hour. Harry did not mind this, for he was not in the best mood to encounter anyone.

He passed the Great Hall with a brisk stride, pausing when he heard several surprised gasps. Spinning he found his eyes locked with those of his friends.

Ginny, Hermione, Ron, Luna, and Neville all stood clustered at the entrance to the Great Hall, frozen in the act of leaving. Their eyes were wide with shock and their mouths hung slightly open save Luna, who gave him a faraway smile.

"Hullo, Harry," Luna murmured quietly, no sign of surprise in her absentminded expression.

Harry blinked, wondering why all except Luna were reacting to him strangely. His mind momentarily cleared as he remembered that he forgot…

_Oh, bloody effing hell._

"Harry?" Hermione breathed, so quietly that had he not had enhanced hearing he would have never heard it. Swallowing, Hermione tried again. "Harry?"

Harry jerked backwards, away from them, and fled, his wandless abilities kicking in without him noticing and slamming the doors to the outside open. His pace never once wavered.

His mind was once again racing, only this time with different thoughts than before. His heartbeat thumped loudly in his ears, yet he could clearly hear the pounding of feet that followed him, mingled with cries of, "Harry! Harry wait! Please! Harry!"

The moment he was out the door, Harry released the restraints he held on his physical abilities and shot off into the night. As soon as he felt it he was far enough away from the castle and its lights, Harry dove head first into the snowy but shadowed ground, allowing the darkness to swallow him like water, but with nary a ripple to indicate his passing.

The four Gryffindors, minus their Ravenclaw friend, followed their friend as closely as they were able, but lost him as soon as they exited the castle. Not knowing which direction their friend went, their pace slowed to a halt while their wands lit up with magical light. Winded from their sprint, they spread out, all calling his name with desperation in their voices.

"What are you lot doing out here?"

The four spun to find the silhouette of their Head of House. Converging on the woman, they each sought furiously to explain what they were doing.

Almost immediately they were silenced with a quick hand motion. "Please! One at a time!" Professor McGonagall admonished. She was interrupted by another voice.

"What seems to be the problem, Minerva?"

They all turned to look at the approaching figure of the Headmaster.

"We saw Harry!" Ron blurted out. Minerva gasped and Albus' eyebrows arched in incredulity. "We saw him and he ran! It was Harry and—"

Ron quieted as Dumbledore motioned for him to stop. "I believe this is a conversation better discussed in private. Please follow me to my office."

No one saw a blond head disappear around a corner and flee towards the owlery.

The two professors and four students made quick work of making their way to the Headmaster's Tower. Once they were all settled, Albus asked the students. "Now, would you mind repeating for me what you were doing outside in the dark? And in the snow, no less."

"We saw Harry," Ginny said steadily, gazing into the Headmaster's blue eyes. "We saw him and he ran from us."

The Transfigurations professor asked with a touch of doubt in her voice, "Are you sure it was Harry that you saw?"

"We know who we saw," Neville answered defensively before blinking at his own brazen outspokenness.

"Why don't we start from the beginning?" suggested the Headmaster, sensing the tension rising between the skeptical Head of House and her students.

Relaxing slightly the Gryffindor students began to tell their tale, not leaving out any detail they could think of.

---

The time it took for Voldemort to summon the Dementors took longer than their indicated five days.

"_We couldn't exactly tell him that five was supposed to mean five days,"_ they had explained after the allotted five days had passed, amusement lacing their words, _"After all, we cannot speak the human tongues anymore."_

After nearly two weeks of waiting, the Dementors felt the summons from their not-Master. While the majority of them left to meet the Dark Lord, one headed for Hogwarts, going as close as it dared so as not to alert the school's professors, but just enough to allow its Lord to sense it. Sensing that its Lord was not within the school, the lone Dementor sunk into the shadows, emerging in the Fortress of Dark. Sensing its Lord, the Dementor returned to the other realm to wait.

Sure enough, Harry emerged from the shadows, fully dressed in the given regalia indicative of his status. He had disabled his Metamorphmagus abilities, although the only thing that once could really see that was changed were the knife-like black nails on his fingers if he lifted them up from behind his cloak. His hood was up, and the charm that obscured his face was activated.

"_Lead on, dear friend,"_ Harry said as they vanished into the night.

They reappeared from the shadows in an area that Harry did not recognize. His eyes roved over the seemingly deserted town, eyes picking up every detail despite the lack of light. _It's sort of creepy here,_ he thought.

Following his guide, they entered a large mansion overlooking the seemingly dead town.

---

"What do you make of it?" Albus asked, directing his question to all of his hired educators, save Faustus. The Defense professor had not been down in the Great Hall for dinner; the others merely assumed that he had not been feeling well enough to make an appearance.

"Well, other than Potter is just as much an attention seeker as ever?" Snape answered with a small amount of contempt.

"Severus," warned Minerva as she sent her colleague a glare. Although she understood why the Potions professor regarded the Potter child with such enmity, it did not prevent her from defending the teen. In the back of her mind she wished that he would someday learn to see beyond the grudge, see beyond the scars of James Potter's mischievous and hurtful legacy, to uncover and maybe understand a little of the youth that held an adult's burden on his shoulders.

"If it is true that Harry Potter has been spotted," Pomona Sprout intervened, trying to forestall the impending argument, "Then the Ministry will be swarming all over here soon."

"It will be hard to cover up even if we wanted to," added Filius Flitwick. "While not all of the staff were in the Great Hall, there were still a few, not to mention the students that were lingering. It was impossible _not_ to hear his friends scream his name."

"So what are we going to tell the Ministry?" queried Professor Sinistra, the Astronomy instructor. "It is very likely that students are going to write letters to their parents informing them of the sighting."

Albus sighed heavily. "In all honesty we cannot claim to have seen Harry. We only have four students as witnesses. However, we do not want to discredit them, as it could hurt their futures. We will believe them, but state that we ourselves did not see him. I believe that is the best solution we can come up with."

The Hogwarts professors all murmured their agreement and left their Headmaster to his brooding.

---

Lord Voldemort currently had several Dementors before him; his temper at the moment was quite short. "What of my offer?" he almost demanded.

The Dementors rattled their breaths, shaking their heads once in an emphatic _no_.

The man growled as the Dementors once more began rattling and clicking. He was itching to hex the creatures when a voice cut through his musings.

"Trying to steal my subjects from me, are you?" The voice was a deep tenor, with a rich, cultured quality to it. He had a neutral accent, if there ever was one, so any listener would not be able to tell if he was from Britain, America, Australia, or any other English-speaking area. Voldemort did not recognize it.

The Dementors parted like the Red Sea to allow a smaller figure to pass through them.

Dressed in the finest black silks he had ever laid eyes on, the stranger stood at about average height, tendrils of black smoke shielding any view of his feet and therefore made him appear as though he were gliding. The silver embroidering, both intricate and elegant, bespoke of great wealth. A gracefully wrought sword, peeking from underneath his cloak, hung on the figure's left hip, and a silver medallion of sorts rested on his chest. His face was swathed in shadow that Voldemort instinctively knew would not reveal his face even with an ability to see through almost everything like that blasted Auror Mad-Eye Moody.

The Dark Lord's lips curled in a sardonic manner. "_Your_ subjects? I fail to see how they could possibly be _your_ subjects when they have already pledged their allegiance to me. What right to do you have to claim them as yours?"

"Well," Harry said mildly, his tone of voice intended to irk the older man, "I claim they are my subjects because they chose me as their leader." As he said the last five words, he gestured to the taller, cloaked figures, and Voldemort was surprised to see curved, black claws extending from where human nails should have. All of the Dementors present turned to face the stranger and sank into a uniform bow at his gesture.

The gobsmacked expression on Lord Voldemort's face was fleeting; it was replaced by one of hatred and malice. "So," he hissed, "You…" He stopped, and a look of consternation and grudging realization passing over his face. He inhaled deeply—to Harry it seemed as though Voldemort was visibly calming himself, which in and of itself was nothing short of a miracle.

"Please forgive me for my outburst," Voldemort said silkily.

_And Hagrid's rock cakes are now officially chewable and edible,_ Harry thought wryly.

"I had not known that your subjects had already chosen a leader," the older man explained.

_And that's as close to an apology as he'll ever get. I'm going to milk this for all its worth,_ thought Harry with a dark smirk.

"My name is Lord Voldemort. I have been working on strengthening relations between my side and your subjects. I am waging a war against an old fool named Albus Dumbledore. I believe that this world, our world of magic, should remain separate from that of the non-magical populace. Those of mixed blood should not be allowed to discover our existence. The diluted blood weakens our kind, destroys our magical heritage. Time and time again we revealed ourselves only to be scorned and killed. I simply wish to clean the magical world of this filth, to rebuild our society to its previous greatness and maintain its secrecy from the rest of the non-magical world.

"I have enlisted the aid of your subjects in my quest. Since you have made your appearance, I request of you to aid me in my noble cause, begun by the great Salazar Slytherin himself."

Silence followed the Dark Lord's proclamation. The Dementors shuffled softly, awaiting their Lord's response.

Harry himself was mulling over different responses to Voldemort's proposition.

"You do realize," Harry began, "that the non-magical world's population greatly outnumbers that of the magical world. Why are you so keen on isolating the magical world?"

Glowing crimson eyes narrowed in hate. "They forced us into this seclusion, which we should be willing to reciprocate. They do not understand us and our magic, which only lead to suffering and eventual destruction."

"But would it not be better to explain to them that magic exists, and that your worlds can indeed coexist peacefully? If it all comes down to misunderstanding, why not help them understand?" Even as Harry spoke this, he could not help but recall the Dursley's complete lack of acceptance.

"Were we to do so now, they would not hesitate to decimate us. Their lack of understanding, as well as the continual dilution of our blood, will lead to our eventual downfall, and I will not allow that to happen," Voldemort growled.

Harry paused in his questioning, both to think over his enemy's responses and to make said opponent uncomfortable with the silence. Watching the other man from beneath the shadows of his hood, Harry smirked as the Dark Lord almost unnoticeably shifted uneasily in his seat.

"And what of me and my subjects? What do we get out of this should you triumph?"

Here Voldemort grinned maliciously. "Each and every soul of the opposing side that remains alive after every battle. We will capture them and allow your subjects to feast."

"Then we do not have a deal," replied Harry flatly.

"What?" hissed the Dark Lord.

"You heard me," Harry snapped back coldly, "We have no deal."

Voldemort could be heard gritting his teeth. "Then what are your terms?" he nearly snarled. The Dementors were a necessary part of his plans; it was vital that he receive their help or his plans of societal cleansing and eventual domination would all go to ruin.

"One battle," Harry stated clearly, his tone uncompromising, "I wish to minimize casualties to my subjects and not endanger them needlessly. This battle will determine the final outcome of this war you wage. I will give my aid just this once; you would be wise not to waste it. I will call forth each and every one of my subjects, but I expect to be kept fully informed on the details of this battle. Should you need input, call forth one of my faithful. They will be able to inform me."

Voldemort clenched his hands into white-knuckled fists. He knew that with the help from the Dementor Lord, the Light side would crumble faster than he could blink. An added bonus was that the Potter brat would most likely not be there to help—if he was even alive at this point. "Agreed. I will begin the planning. You will be kept informed."

_Voldemort won't know what hit him. _Harry smiled coldly, although it could not be seen. "I expect no less."

Their meeting was interrupted by an owl—the Malfoy's eagle owl—if Harry's memory served him correctly. The owl landed on Voldemort's armrest and stretched its leg out. The Dark Lord quickly untied the parchment attached to the raptor's leg and scanned through the document. The bird had flown away the moment its message had been delivered. The parchment was slowly crumpled in the man's fist.

"It seems as though I have some pest control to do," he stated in a controlled voice.

"Oh?" Harry responded, already having an idea of what the contents of the message were.

"Harry Potter has been seen on Hogwarts grounds, apparently not as dead as I would have liked," growled Voldemort.

"And what do you propose to do about it?" Harry asked, pleased that he was pissing off the Dark Lord.

Here the other man scoffed. "What do you think? I, Lord Voldemort, will personally kill him."

---

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was busy fending off Ministry personnel, reporters, and other random people with rather strong opinions. Word had spread like wildfire that the escaped convict Harry Potter had been sighted on Hogwarts grounds.

Minister Fudge could be seen scurrying about, flanked by Aurors and higher-level officials, all the while bickering furiously with the Headmaster.

"I am telling you, Albus, the boy must be found! He is a menace to society, and we must do everything possible to find him!" barked the portly man.

"I understand your concerns, Cornelius, and we will do everything within our power to aid you," replied the Headmaster in a conciliatory tone he adopted when speaking with younger children.

"Too right, Albus! And all this time we thought he would aid us in the fight against You-Know-Who!" exclaimed the Minister with outrage.

Dumbledore mentally heaved a sigh. This was going to try his seemingly endless patience.

---

Draco Malfoy was returning to his rooms after a tiring day of classes. Taking some of the less oft used corridors, he turned a corner and literally ran into Ron and Hermione, who were on their way back from the library to the Gryffindor common room. The three toppled over.

"Watch where you're going, you dimwitted Horklump! Now I've got filth all over me!" Draco snarled. Seeing who it was he ran into, he got to his feet and brushed off his robes as he jeered, "Well, well, if it isn't the Weasel and the little tagalong know-it-all. "

"Sod off, Malfoy," Ron snapped back as he helped Hermione to her feet. "You all right, Hermione?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she replied, combing fingers through her frizzy locks.

"As touching as this is, you should get out of my way," drawled the Slytherin, assuming a bored air. "Besides, _I_ don't want to be caught out after curfew," he added.

Before the two males could enter a full-blown shouting match, all three suddenly froze as a hooded head emerge from a shadow in the few feet between them. The head turned and stared rigidly at the two Gryffindors before quickly swiveling to land on the Slytherin.

Although Draco could not see anything within the hood, he could somehow sense that the… _thing's_… eyes, if it had eyes, had gone as wide as dinner plates.

"Wait!" Ron and Hermione called, making a dive for the rapidly retreating head. Draco unconsciously mimicked the Gryffindors' actions. Fingers curled into the sides of the hood, and they sunk into the shadows with the cloaked being.

Draco's heart pounded furiously in his chest; his thundering pulse filled his ears. His fingers were still tightly clenched in the hood's silky fabric. _I need to get some of this,_ Draco thought inanely.

The quartet emerged in one of the many shadowed hallways of the Fortress of Dark, although the three Hogwarts students still had no idea where they were. In this new, unfamiliar setting, Draco's stomach was beginning to clench and tie itself in rather uncomfortable knots. As soon as his feet were on solid ground, he released the figure's hood and stumbled away, trying to recover his dignity. The two Gryffindors similarly stumbled from the being.

"Where are we?" he demanded brusquely to mask his fear, "And who the bloody hell are you?"

The cloaked being had not yet turned around to reveal himself to the Malfoy heir, yet he or she was not facing the Gryffindor pair either. Even though the figure was turned away, Draco observed that he was taller, past his father in height. He had a moderate build; neither bulky nor spindly. The satin-like black cloak poked out on its left towards the bottom, indicting a sword sheathed on its hip. What startled the Slytherin most were the tendrils of inky smoke that curled about the floor at the feet of the figure.

"I did not expect you to follow me, Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Weasley, Ms. Granger," answered an aristocratic tenor. The cloaked being slowly rotated around, stopping when he had turned enough to reveal his body's profile. His head was fully turned to stare at the blond.

It unnerved Draco tremendously that he could not see into the hood, to see the face that lay hidden within the shadows. He was utterly scared witless by the fact that this nameless person knew his name. _Malfoy is a famous name,_ the Slytherin rationalized, _Surely he'd have heard of me…_ He slowly backed away, bumping into a wall.

Harry watched as the Malfoy heir retreated from him, his heart pounding loudly to his sensitive ears, his grey eyes dilated due to his fear.

"Please, sir," Hermione started tentatively, visibly quailing as Harry turned to regard her, "Where are we? How do you know our names?" Both she and Ron were white as sheets; Ron's freckles and red hair contrasted starkly with the paleness of his skin.

He sighed quietly to himself. _What am I going to do with all of them? I can either:_

_1.) Take them and dump him back at Hogwarts, keep them in the dark and let others go on believing they'd gone mad; or_

_2.) Figure out a way to keep them silent without having to off them._

Harry sighed again, refraining from rubbing the bridge of his nose. _Might as well go with number two. Having Malfoy being thought of as crazy is too mean and petty for my tastes, and I certainly don't want my friends to be thought of as insane. Either way, I have to figure out a means of keeping Dumbledore unaware of me and my position. How do I protect them against Legilimency?_

Addressing the Slytherin, Harry stated, "I take it you do not know where this is?"

The Malfoy heir rapidly shook his head. "I already asked you once, you arse," he snapped. The scene would have been amusing to Harry had he not been so annoyed at the situation.

"I'm surprised you were able to follow at all. I was unsure whether or not mortals were able to enter this realm," said Harry, watching Draco's eyes widen comically.

"Realm?" Ron asked, his voice shrill with fear.

Harry turned to Ron. "Yes, realm. Do keep up, Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Weasley, Ms. Granger; I do not want to have to send one of my subjects after you," Harry said as he began walking down the corridor. "I am the Lord of this realm. Here my subjects are free to roam wherever they please."

"Your subjects?" Ron asked, voice laden with apprehension.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley, my subjects. Not Voldemort's," Harry said, turning to face the trio as the Dementors made their presence known via the shadows. Malfoy stiffened and bit back a scream, backing into Ron and Hermione, who were pressed back-to-back, wands at the ready. "Mine," Harry finished with a dark grin.

The trio waved their wands back and forth, striving but failing to keep an eye on all of the Dementors that had gathered around them. The black-cloaked figures formed a loose circle around them, their breaths rattling with their chuckles at the students' actions.

"Don't come closer!" Hermione bravely shouted, "Or I'll use the _Patronus_ Charm!"

"Calm yourself, Ms. Granger," Harry chided softly, "They mean you no harm. If you haven't noticed already, their effects have been greatly dampened due to my interference."

Ron blinked and blurted out, "Bloody hell! He's right, Hermione! Do you not feel cold?"

Hermione's brows furrowed in consternation as she pondered the implications of Ron's observation. "So," she began hesitantly, "They are feeding off of a single source as opposed to multiple sources? You mean… they are feeding off of… _you_?"

Malfoy scoffed. "Don't be stupid. Everyone knows that Dementors take from everything they can, the greedy bastards," he mumbled the last part under his breath, but Harry heard it with his keen hearing.

The Dementors stirred, their breaths clicking indignantly. Harry shushed them with a gentle gesture that revealed his black talon-like fingernails. "I advise, Mr. Malfoy, that you monitor what comes out of your mouth," warned Harry in a low voice. "They," here he waved a hand indicating the Dementors, "take offense to your words." As if to punctuate his words, the Dementors rattled ominously.

Plan fully formed in his mind, Harry began, "Now, Mr. Weasley, Ms. Granger, please come with me. There is something I wish to explain to you two. Mr. Malfoy, please remain here—"

"The bloody hell I _won't_!" snarled Draco. "If you expect me to stand here twiddling my thumbs with those… _things_ hanging around me, you've got another one coming! Besides, whatever they get to know I most definitely get to know!" With his outburst he pompously stomped over to where the two Gryffindors and the unknown person stood.

Harry smiled. The ploy worked like a charm. Leading them down one of the countless corridors, Harry began to explain things to them while casting complex spells on their minds that would Occlude the information he would present to them.

Harry began his explanation. "What I am going to tell you will never reach the ears of others unless I permit it. I—"

"You _permit_ it?" Draco interrupted incredulously, "You can't tell me to do anything!"

Harry replied with a slight edge, "Mr. Malfoy, I suggest you please do be quiet. I have already enabled precautionary charms to keep prying minds out of yours. Now, as I have mentioned before, I am the Lord of this realm. The Dementors call me the Lord Sovereign of Darkness. You are here, deep within the shadows, in the Lands of Eternal Night. Here, my Dementors roam free."

"Sir," Hermione began haltingly, "You-Know-Who is said to have garnered the Dementors' support. Is this true?"

By now they had reached the great room of the Fortress of Dark. Harry gestured for the students to sit. They did so nervously, tightly clustered together on a couch. Draco did his best to not sit so close to them and not appear to be afraid. Harry himself took a recliner.

"Voldemort did indeed attempt to recruit my loyal. They most likely would still be following him had I not interfered. I do not intend on following the plans of that man."

Ron and Hermione were visibly heartened by the news. Draco sputtered, but managed to hold his tongue. It would not be wise to dispute this unknown man's ideologies in a realm he knew nothing of.

"So what are your plans then?" queried Ron, with curiosity.

Harry smiled a little at his long-time friends. "I will not disclose my plans to you, but I do not intend to fully cooperate with Lord Voldemort," he revealed. "His ideals and my ideals do not coincide." Remembering the current time, which had come to a stand still while they were in the Fortress, Harry remarked, "I should probably take you all back to Hogwarts. It's getting close to your bedtimes."

Before the three students could reply they were engulfed in swirls of black smoke and deposited in the same corner of the same hallways. The three staggered as they regained their footing, jumping as the mysterious man's voice echoed in their minds. _I will know if you try to tell someone; you will find it exceedingly difficult to talk to people about this particular event._

"Was that real?" asked Ron, looking at the other two in bewilderment.

"I'm sure that was," Hermione replied, a bit breathless herself. "Oh, blast! He never got around to telling us who he was!" She let out a groan.

Ron shuddered. "Knowing what I do now, I'm somewhat glad I don't know who he is."

Just then the clock tower rang the hour. "Curfew!"

They all split up as they made the mad dash back to their common rooms, Draco to the dungeons, and Hermione and Ron to the upper floors.

Giving the password to the portrait of the Fat Lady, Hermione and Ron quickly entered the Gryffindor Common Room.

"Where have you been?" Ginny asked as the two caught their breaths. She and Neville ambled over. "We thought that you two were going to be caught by Filch!"

Hermione threw a Silencing Spell on Ron just as he opened his mouth to speak. When no noise came out of his throat, he turned and gave Hermione a glare. She glared right back and hissed, "This is something we want to keep quiet." Turning to the others, she said, "Let's find somewhere that can afford us some privacy."

The four of them went upstairs into the boys' dormitory, settling in Ron and Neville's room. Dean and Seamus, they had noted, were in the Common Room playing a game of Exploding Snap. Charms were cast to ensure no eavesdroppers.

"So what happened?" asked Ginny, who was brimming with curiosity. Hermione cancelled the spell on Ron.

"Something crazy happened to us!" Ron began, "We were walking back from the library and ran into Malfoy. Knocked each other flat. Suddenly we saw a chicken come by and try to eat my boot!" Ron frowned and the others blinked at him. "I didn't mean to say that! I meant to say that Flobberworms are trying to take over the world!"

Hermione was frowning as the gears in her mind industriously churned. "That spell…" She fell silent for a few more moments as she put the pieces together. "Ron! We can't tell what happened because he said we wouldn't be able to! Remember how Malfoy threw a fit?"

Ron's eyes widened. "Merlin's beard! Do you think there is a way to go around it?"

"Can you write it out?" suggested Ginny, whose curiosity was killing her.

"We can give it a try," Hermione agreed. Grabbing some spare parchment, a quill, and an inkstand, she began to write:

_Today we found killer kidney beans swimming in the lake._

"How odd," the elder girl stated, "I could imagine myself writing what I wanted to write, but it was as if my hand had a mind of its own, to go on writing all that."

"Felt that way speaking, too," added Ron, "It's almost as though some external force was controlling my jaw and vocal cords."

"He did mention that Legilimency would not find the information in our minds. If we aren't able to tell anyone, it's probable that others won't be able to find that information in our minds."

"What about when not in the presence of those that don't know?" suggested Neville.

Ginny pouted at the idea of not being able to listen but agreed to go outside. After another set of privacy spells, Ron and Hermione began to talk. To their amazement, they were able to converse freely about the events they experienced. They were even more amazed that they were able to write down the events that happened.

Opening the door for Neville and Ginny, they proudly presented the piece of parchment, which Ginny and Neville eagerly read. As their eyes scanned through the document, frowns formed on their faces.

"What?" Ron asked indignantly at their expressions.

"You wrote about flying goblins and dancing houses," Neville uttered.

"What?" Hermione squawked, snatching back the parchment. Sure enough, written in her neat, precise handwriting was a small paragraph on how goblins had wings and flew about singing in Gobbledygook, and how houses grew arms and legs and danced about their yards.

"This is insane!" growled Ron. No one argued with that.

---

Meanwhile, Malfoy was having a similar problem explaining what happened to his Head of House after being caught sneaking back into the Slytherin Common Room just after curfew.

"I swear, Professor, something happened! I somehow cannot communicate it, but something _did_ happen!" Draco insisted.

"Mr. Malfoy, we've tried every means of drawing out this… experience… of yours, but to no avail. Are you _sure _it happened?" Obviously Snape was rather skeptical if he could not even find this memory in his student's mind with Legilimency.

"I am _not_ going insane, Professor!" Draco nearly roared.

"Alright, Mr. Malfoy!" Severus snapped. "I'm not going to argue this with you anymore. You may leave," he instructed, pinching his sinuses.

Draco headed for the door. Pausing before he opened it, he turned back and asked, "You believe me, don't you, sir?"

Snape sighed. "I do, Draco. Good night."

"Good night, sir."

As the Malfoy heir left his office, the Potions Master adjourned into his private rooms, fixed himself a tumbler of brandy, and seated himself in his recliner before his fire.

---

Harry chuckled at Draco, Hermione, and Ron's attempts to explain to others their predicament. His spells were designed to have them say something nonsensical whenever they tried to spill the beans, whatever the method.

Currently he was ensconced in his bed at Hogwarts, his Metamorphmagus abilities activated so that his appearance was that of Faustus Hamilton's. A book about the Dark Arts from the Black library lay open on his lap. Hedwig, renamed Aldara, was preening on a perch placed on top of the bookcase, straightening glossy cream and brown feathers.

The clock tower chimed fifteen after the hour. Deciding to call it a day, Harry both dimmed the fire in the fireplace and opened the window slightly with a single wave of his hand. That way, Aldara would be able to go on her nightly hunt without bothering him about the window.

_Poor Ron and Hermione… and Draco, I suppose. I hope the former two will forgive me when I reveal myself._

Murmuring a good night to his barn owl, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor snuggled under his comforter and fell into sleep's waiting arms.

---

I hope you enjoyed it and please, review. Please keep in mind that HBP hasn't happened in my story, nor will it happen. I was not all that pleased with the way the book turned out, so I am not going to follow that storyline. I have been on a six-week field camp that took me through seven different states, so I was quite out of date with my story. I won't apologize for it; I really had lots of fun and wouldn't have missed it for the world.

-Tal.

---

Completed: 7.9.2007

Edited: 7.9.2007

Re-edited: 1.8.09

---


	11. Chapter X: Preparing for War

Harry Potter characters do not belong to me but to J.K. Rowling.

---

In Terms of a Name

By Taliya

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Chapter X: Preparing for War

---

_Poor Ron and Hermione… and Draco, I suppose. I hope the former two will forgive me when I reveal myself._

Murmuring a good night to his barn owl, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor snuggled under his comforter and fell into sleep's waiting arms.

---

"Bloody spell!" Ginny hissed, her curiosity effectively driving her up the wall during breakfast.

Hermione glared disapprovingly and chided the younger girl on her language.

"Well aren't you fed up with it?" Ginny retorted. "You can't tell _anyone_ what you know, in any way, shape, or form! Isn't it driving you batty?"

"It is for me," Ron inserted sullenly through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. Ginny rolled her eyes at the rather unattractive display of partially masticated food.

Hermione sighed in exasperation.

"What about indirect questions?" asked Neville, "We have already asked you two directly, but what about questions that can sort of, well, you know, lead us to an answer."

"Oh, brilliant, Neville!" exclaimed the youngest Weasley. "Why did I not think of that?"

They quickly finished their meal, dragging a reluctant Ron away from the table with two slices of buttered toast to appease his enormous appetite. None of them noticed the amused, barely noticeable smirk given their way from the Head Table.

The four Gryffindors settled themselves in the Room of Requirement. They agreed to a sort of question and answer session with Ginny and Neville asking the questions and Ron and Hermione trying their best to answer.

"So… did you meet someone or something?" asked Neville, beginning with a very general question.

"Yes," replied Hermione with ease.

"Did you meet a person?" queried Ginny.

"Not sure," answered Ron. "His porcupines were doing the Mexican Hat Dance."

All four sighed, frustrated with the dead end.

"Let's try one more time before we leave for class," said Ginny stubbornly. "Was it a male or female?"

"Male," answered Hermione.

"What kind of clothing was he wearing?" asked Ginny.

"He danced with butterflies and ate wooden spoons," Ron blurted out.

"Bloody nuisance," Neville grumbled.

---

The Winter Break came and went, and with it, the Christmas decorations and Professor Dumbledore's crazy animated red and green Christmas-themed robes.

True to his word, Voldemort kept his word, and Harry was informed of the battle plans via his faithful Dementors. He would be summoned by proximity to one of them, and information would be exchanged in the Fortress of Dark. Harry enjoyed spending time in the Lands of Eternal Night, conversing, fighting, and generally tussling with the stallion, wolf, panther, and dragon. Harry's proficiency at more exotic weaponry grew, and he was immensely pleased with his progress. The Dementors basked in his presence, and voiced their contentment so that he knew.

After a harsh practice session perfecting his technique with melon hammers, butterfly knives, seven-section chain whip, and three-section staff, Harry decided to call it a day. Slipping back into the other realm, he took a deliciously hot soak in his bath at Hogwarts.

The midday sun streamed in from his window, exaggerating the paleness of his skin. Sighing, Harry got out of the tub. He had a class to teach, but before that, he had a "Boggart" to find.

---

Defense Against the Dark Arts for the Sixth Years was a difficult but fun class. The lectures Professor Hamilton gave were informative and interactive. The bell rung and the Sixth Year Gryffindors waited eagerly for the first class after Winter Break.

"So," Professor Hamilton began as he strolled into the classroom, "Now that you are halfway through your second to last year, I believe it is time to teach you as though you were preparing for the N.E.W.T.S. at the end of this year."

The announcement was met with stifled groans. Only Hermione looked eager to begin.

"To start with," Harry stated, "I am going to deviate from the syllabus and jump a little." The class perked up a bit. "For the next two weeks you will be learning how to conjure a _Patronus_."

The class whispered excitedly. Harry already knew that a lot of them had a basis for the spell due to his time teaching the now-extinct Defense Association, but only a few were able to produce corporeal _Patroni_. His goal would be to have every student in his Sixth and Seventh Year classes, even the Slytherins, produce corporeal _Patroni_ as a preemptive measure for the coming battle. His Seventh Year N.E.W.T.s class had already learned the theory, and was practicing against his "Boggart" Dementor. He was extremely proud of them.

"If I believe you are all ready, we will test your skills," here Harry grinned a small but devious grin, "against a Boggart Dementor."

The class broke out into hushed murmurs of anticipation. The _Patronus_ Charm was a powerful spell not covered until their last year at Hogwarts, and even then it was only theory, not practical application. That was reserved for Auror training.

"Your fellow Seventh Years are currently practicing against my Boggart Dementor. For now, you will practice in a Dementor-free environment. And please," he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "don't tell them or it'll make them jealous."

Turning, he flicked his wand at the chalkboard as the class chuckled a little at their odd professor. The white stick of chalk floated upwards and began to scratch out in elegant script:

_The theory behind the _Patronus_ Charm is based off the idea…_

The classroom was quiet but for the industrious scratching of quills on parchment and Faustus Hamilton's soothing tenor.

---

The delicate chords of Ludwig van Beethoven's _Moonlight Sonata_ filled the air under the skillful fingers of one Faustus Hamilton. The coming of the night had not brought him the rest that he desired, so he went off in search of something to keep his mind occupied. Therefore, he "happened" to come across the Room of Requirement on the Seventh Floor.

The young man swayed in time to the music, eyes closed as nimble fingers gracefully teased notes out of the large instrument. The sound resonated throughout the identical replica of Carnegie Hall's Stern Auditorium that the Room of Requirement had transformed into.

As the last strains of the glossy black grand piano gave way to a peaceful quiet, a soft clapping reached his ears. Muffled through the walls as if from a distance, the clock tower chimed once. Silently acknowledging the Headmaster's presence in the first tier, Harry continued playing. They continued to sit in companionable silence, allowing Frédéric Chopin's _Nocturne_ to wash over them completely.

"So what brings you here at this hour, Headmaster?" Harry murmured, fingers still moving gracefully across the black and ivory keys.

"The power of music…" Dumbledore answered, "Captivating in its freedom, striking in its fragility, and complex in its simplicity."

Harry smiled and shook his head, chuckling softly. "That's probably as good an answer as I'll get coming from you, Albus."

The aged Headmaster grinned in response. "And what are you doing up, Faustus?"

"Enjoying the peacefulness of the night with music as my companion," was the answer.

"How long have you been playing the piano?"

_Literally? For about an hour now._ Fingers still breezing along the keys, Harry replied, "Not for very long. Why?"

Dumbledore smiled. "You play exquisitely. It has been a while since I've heard music played with so much passion."

"Thank you, Albus."

The music once again enveloped them, and Harry swayed reverently in time to it, following the lead of the nuances of the music. _Nocturne_ came to a close, and soon Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's _Fantasia in D Minor_ filled the air.

As his fingers drifted across the keys, Harry sensed the Headmaster move from the first tier to the parquet level, then to the side of the stage. The youthful professor did not physically respond when he felt small tendrils of magic brush against his Occlumency shields. He did, however, give those small tendrils a "shove" in the direction away from his shields.

"It's quite rude to enter without permission," Harry chided the aged Headmaster without either glancing up or pausing in the music.

Albus sighed. "I'm sorry, dear boy, a defensive habit picked up over the years. It's a practice I'm not proud of, however necessary it was during times of duress."

Harry ended the song with the last few chords and the Room made the instrument disappear as the spacious hall shrank to a more conventional size. The piano bench Harry sat on morphed into a comfortable leather armchair. The Room created an identical chair for the Headmaster, as well as a low coffee table covered in plates with assorted pastries and a silver tea set.

Pouring and preparing the tea to the Headmaster's satisfaction, Harry began, "You didn't come here just to listen to me play, did you Albus?" Harry settled back into his chair with his own cup of tea.

"Perceptive as ever, Faustus," Dumbledore said with a quirk of the lips. "Yes, I have a matter that I would like to discuss with you." Albus sipped his tea, organizing his thoughts. "Lord Voldemort has been quiet for some time. I fear that a large-scale attack is imminent, somewhere the general Wizarding populace visit often. I am guessing Hogwarts would be a probably be a likely target—Diagon Alley and the Ministry of Magic as well. My informant reported that Lord Voldemort has been rather tight-lipped and wound up. His temper as of late has been exceptionally short, and he has always been a harsh taskmaster. I pity his followers."

"Just tell me what it is you wish for me to do, Albus," Harry said. He had watched how the old man interacted with his colleagues enough to know that when he rambled on in such a manner he was usually guiding the conversation to the topic he wanted to discuss.

Dumbledore's lips pressed together in indecision, his brows furrowing. At length he spoke, "I want you to teach the children things that will help them survive this war. Tactics, evasion, countering, attacking, healing—anything that will help them survive this coming war. Prepare them, mentally, physically, and emotionally, for what will eventually come."

---

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was not by any means a stupid man. He was, in all actuality, a far cry from dumb. Possessing a brilliant intellect and a powerful magical core, it was little wonder that the Wizarding world looked up to the man. When the Hogwarts Headmaster selected the young man before him to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, his instinct told him that this youth before him was more than he seemed—much more.

The years in both the educational and political arena had given the Headmaster a perceptive eye. Looking at young Faustus Hamilton, he saw a youth with one of the iciest façades he had ever encountered. His surname indicated that he was not one of the Pureblood families, but he dressed well enough to pass as one. However, he was not, and for that Albus was thankful he would not have a Dark-inclined, narrow-minded instructor.

Faustus Hamilton was a complete enigma to the aged Headmaster. An intellectually gifted and strong youth, he was reclusive and icy. Albus wondered what experiences shaped the young man into the adult whom had already bid him good evening and had left the comfortable Room.

_Faustus Hamilton, who are you?_ he wondered, unknowingly echoing his Potions Master's thoughts.

---

"So, Weasel, leeching off of the Mudblood to pass your exams?" Two sets of grunting laughter could be heard following the question—Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle.

Harry heard the words of Draco Malfoy and paused before he turned the corner, intent on listening to the rest of the conversation.

"I could probably do more than you," Ron snapped back. Hermione could be heard futilely trying to persuade Ron to leave it be.

"Oh, really?" came the drawled response. "Well, then _show_ me what managed to get through that thick skull of yours!"

Harry decided that the conversation was at an end. Turning the corner, he was met with the scene of Ron and Malfoy with their wands out, already in the process of casting hexes on each other.

"_Diffindo!_"

"_Reducto!_"

All five Sixth Years blinked in bewilderment when their curses encountered an invisible shield that rippled as it absorbed the magic. "Rules state that magic is not allowed in the hallways," Harry admonished as swept towards them, tucking his wand away. Both Ron and Draco made to protest but were silenced by a swift hand motion. "I'll not have you two arguing over who started it like little three year olds! Act your age and settle your disputes in a more civilized manner. Twenty points from both Slytherin and Gryffindor for dueling in the hallways, plus detention with me tonight at eight o'clock. Now run along. I don't wan to catch you two arguing again. Mr. Malfoy, a word if you please?"

The two Slytherins and two Gryffindors went their separate ways; Crabbe and Goyle needed a pointed stare from Harry to get the idea. "Follow me, please."

The two of them made their way into Harry's office. "Please, be seated. So, Mr. Malfoy, have you obtained what you were looking for? Tea?" asked Harry as he conjured a tea set with his wand.

The Malfoy heir blinked, the only external sign of his confusion at the two dynamically different questions. "I wasn't looking for anything," he scoffed. "And yes, tea would be nice."

Harry held back an amused snort. Fixing the two cups of tea the way they each liked it, Harry continued his quest. "Obviously you were; you trailed me for a while, even sneaked into my quarters. As of late your tagging along has lessened. What is the purpose of this, Mr. Malfoy? This conversation is, as you know, long overdue."

The Slytherin Prince suppressed a shudder as his professor's tone of voice suddenly dropped into a low, and to his mind, menacing rumble.

Malfoy mumbled something unintelligible, a light flush coloring his pale cheeks.

"I'm sorry, would you mind repeating?" Harry pressed.

"I was curious," the Slytherin muttered.

To Harry, it appeared as if the Malfoy heir was… sulking. _Imagine that,_ Harry thought with amusement, _I didn't think it was in the "Malfoy Code of Conduct" to sulk._ Leaning back into his chair, Harry regarded his student thoughtfully. Perhaps this would be his chance to make the Slytherin rethink his values.

"Ask what you will, Mr. Malfoy, if it will satisfy your curiosity," Harry stated blandly. He suppressed a grin at causing his student to blink in surprise.

"Anything, sir?" he asked craftily, expecting some catch to the whole thing.

"Anything," came the crisp reply. "For your comfort I swear on my magic not to breathe a word of this conversation to a single soul unless it is to aid you in any way, and only then with your permission." A ripple of magic encased the both of them, sealing the spoken promise.

Apparently this was the right thing to do, for the teen seemed to relax marginally, his face becoming less guarded.

"Loyalties?"

_I guess he isn't going for subtle if I swore to silence,_ Harry thought, bemused. "Against the Dark Lord. He has taken loved ones away from me," Harry said softly, thinking of his deceased father, mother, fellow Triwizard Champion, and godfather. "Do you support him?"

Malfoy held himself stiffly, almost as if refusing to answer, but a look at his attentive but relaxed professor changed his mind. "I don't. I act like I do, but I don't." The breath seemed to leave his body, and Harry was suddenly shown a world-weary youth with a heavy burden on his shoulders. _Sort of like myself,_ he reflected.

Malfoy gave his DADA professor an accessing stare, as if weighing his worth. His instincts told him that the man in front of him had a Slytherin-Ravenclaw mind, but was a Hufflepuff-Gryffindor at heart. He was powerful—if his clothes and bearing were anything to go by, they screamed his high status—and although still young, he was probably influential enough to help him wiggle out of the proverbial "tight spot" he was currently ensconced in.

Harry somehow felt that this was the turning point; if Malfoy could trust him, then he could be turned. He schooled his features to be neutral, allowing his former classmate the option that if confided in, his secrets would be safe.

The Slytherin studied his instructor for a long length of time before deciding that his secrets would be safe with this man—after all, he _had_ promised silence. However, he would still tread extremely cautiously.

"My father, as you probably know, was sentenced to Azkaban at the end of last year because of Harry Potter, and later on escaped." A sneer. "He is a marked Death Eater. I was marked this past summer. I believed in the ideals He held, that He would make the Wizarding world a better place for Purebloods.

"I was brought along for my first Muggle torture session. I torched the houses, but could not bear to kill them—or worse, rape the women— as so many of the other Death Eaters did. I was sick to my stomach. I watched my father defile young adult females, torture the males, and thoughtlessly behead and maim the children.

"I made a mistake. I chose that side for, at the time, what seemed like all the right reasons. What I've seen has repulsed me. I don't want to serve Him any longer. No Malfoy should kneel before someone else; we are the ones others kneel before."

Harry gazed at the prideful young Malfoy. There was a determined glint in his eyes—determination for what, Harry could not fathom—but it was there, nonetheless.

"You still have not told me why you were spying on me," the young professor reminded his pupil.

"Curiosity on His part. I had to report to my father every once in a while; He was interested in recruiting you. I was to find out your loyalties, as well as how capable you were at wielding a wand. You captured His interest even further with your skill with swords and Muggle martial arts," Malfoy explained. _Personally, I hope you cut Him into bloody little bits and pieces._

Harry considered the young man before him. "Mr. Malfoy, would you be averse to informing the Headmaster? He has much more experience and influence than I do, and would probably be in a better position to help you."

Draco looked faintly disgusted with the idea of informing Dumbledore. "I'd prefer not; I don't trust the old coot."

"So why trust me?" Harry asked.

Malfoy glared at Harry before replying. "I see a mix of things in you. Instinct tells me you are inherently trustworthy. You possess Ravenclaw intellect, Slytherin cunning, Hufflepuff loyalty, and foolhardy Gryffindor courage. Intellect and cunning are usually enough to keep you from making rash decisions."

Harry blinked. He had not known that Draco could be so perceptive. Just another trait, he supposed, that was trained into him as the Malfoy heir and future political power.

"An interesting analysis of my person, Mr. Malfoy. Just keep in mind that everyone that works here lives to help students like yourself, regardless of the situation. Personally, I would suggest your Head of House, if you refuse to talk to the Headmaster. A little food for thought, no? You are free to go, Mr. Malfoy. Good day."

Malfoy stiffly nodded and swept out of the office. Harry leaned back into his seat and pondered what to do in light of this new information.

---

At precisely one minute past eight, both Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy stood rigidly in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom eyeing each other warily. Harry himself sat at his desk.

"You are both here to serve your detention for dueling out in the hallways. Now, as I see it, you two have a lot of energy that needs to be burned up, as well as a lot of animosity built up between each other. I am going to fix that _tonight_. You are both going to duel me _as a team_. You will watch out for each other. If you do not, you will have failed in your objective and will come back here every Sunday evening at eight until you can work together as a flawless unit."

Both students gaped at their teacher.

"But that's not fair!" protested Ron and Draco simultaneously.

Harry silenced them. "Consider this subsidiary training to what you are learning in DADA," Harry said. He could not exactly tell them that they would possibly be working on the same side now. He also had a feeling that this training would prove useful in the future.

"Prepare yourselves," Harry instructed. The two students stepped into ready stances, still watching each other with wariness.

One hour thirty minutes and multiple bruises and scratches later, the two rivals stood hunched over, puffing and out of breath. Harry tended to their injuries, healing the cuts. He gave each of them a small jar of cream to rub over the bruises, which would heal overnight. They had not worked as a team, as he had expected. Rather, they would shoot spells at each other when the other's attention was on their professor.

Harry dismissed them and shook his head. They would learn with time.

---

The nightly Martial Arts and Weaponry classes so far were extremely successful. Students came faithfully to the class, putting in the work to become better. There was much blood, sweat, and even tears from the students; yet all were doing what they could to excel.

A meeting for all of his students was called one Saturday evening. They all crowded into the Great Hall, wondering why they were being summoned. While a few of them grumbled about being called on a Saturday, most of them were nonplussed, for they truly enjoyed what the class had to offer.

The platform appeared before them, identical to the first night, and there were muted murmurs of dismay. None of them wanted to be used as a demonstration once more.

"Good evening," Harry greeted as he strode up to the platform, his forest green robes flowing behind him. The class chorused a salutation.

"I have called you here tonight because there are a few things that I'm going to change up some of the usual training that you have been receiving. I intend on adding more to your classes." Harry waited until the whispers subsided. "I am going to add to your training tactical analysis and evasion techniques, as well as dueling with both your chosen activity and magic. Although not many people acknowledge it, we are at war.

"You lot might be young, yes, but it never hurts to be prepared. My job here as a professor is to help you in any way I can to prepare you for the world outside of academia. My job therefore includes passing down knowledge that can help you survive to see the end of this war.

"That being said, I will be cutting into the time we normally use for your individual skill of choice and spending more time focusing on how to plan battles and evade fire. At the end of this year we will have a tournament to see just how much you all have learned. Teams will consist of all Years of all Houses; it will be up to your individual teams to devise strategies to survive."

Here, Harry smirked a little. "A prize will go to the team that emerges victorious."

Harry waited to allow his message to sink in. "Have a good evening and a good rest of the weekend."

---

The week after Professor Hamilton's announcement to his Sixth Years revealed the students tittering anxiously as they awaited the arrival of their instructor. All eyes followed the professor as he entered the classroom.

"Welcome back, Sixth Year Gryffindors! Now, you all have been learning the theory behind the _Patronus_ Charm for the past week. This week we will be working on the practical aspect. We will be learning how to cast the charm in the classroom. If by Wednesday, your wand work is satisfactory, we will see exactly how successful your efforts paid off." Harry neglected to mention that since his worst fear was no longer Dementors, a Boggart was not a viable option. He would actually be bringing one of his subjects in the guise of a Boggart.

Harry knew Hermione would doubtless make the connection between Harry Potter's greatest fear and his "Boggart". However, it could be said that many people would have the black robed creature as their worst fear if they had ever encountered a real Dementor. It was something he could play off. He supposed he should plant more evidence that there was a different between Faustus Hamilton and Harry Potter. Hermione was just too persistent to let things lie, especially if it was about the Boy-Who-Lived.

Clearing away the desks so that there was open space in the center of the classroom, Harry bade the students spread out and turned around so they could follow his wand's motion. "Now, to produce a _Patronus_, you flick your wand like so—and say '_Expecto Patronum_'. Remember the theory behind the spell and think happy thoughts. Now, copy my movements and repeat after me: _Expecto Patronum!_"

The cantaloupe-sized spheres erupted from Harry's wand, their ghostly appearance and muted whispers causing the class to gasp and slightly recoil. A silver otter joined the spheres, as well as a Jack Russell terrier, and a fox. Harry recognized the animals as Hermione, Ron, and Seamus', respectively.

_Humph,_ he thought sardonically, _At least Hermione isn't going to link me to Harry Potter in the least with my changed _Patronus.

The _Patroni_ lingered for a little bit before dispersing into delicate wisps of silver smoke.

"What _were_ those, Professor?" came the voice of Hermione Granger.

"Orbs of light," Harry fibbed, "Although why I have so many, I can only guess. Anyhow, practice on your own. I will come around to help those that need it. To those that can already produce a _Patronus_," here, he smirked to himself, "Congratulations on performing such difficult magic. Please use this time to help your classmates should they need it."

For the rest of the class period Harry weaved between students, correcting their wand movements or pronunciation. Sometimes he would have to push his students to find thoughts that were sufficiently happy enough to fuel a _Patronus_—or at least some silver mist.

Class ended and the students retired from the room, exhausted but pleased. Harry let loose a small grin that was quickly wiped off his face as his next class entered.

---

A snowball fight raged outside the walls of Hogwarts that late January afternoon. Shouts and laughter could be heard as people chucked and dodged the icy projectiles.

Currently Gryffindor was waging war with Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. The House of Slytherin had declined in joining in, silently declaring such an activity as undignified.

A certain Defense Against the Dark Arts professor observed the frivolity from a window on the fourth floor. The eagles and badgers had joined forces so that their numbers combined rivaled the numbers of the lions. Considering how the Gryffindors had won the snowball fights in previous years, it was, therefore, surprising to note that Gryffindor was currently losing the "war."

Deciding to make use of this form of play as a constructive lesson, Harry descended to the ground floor level, stopping by his office to pick up his heavy black winter cloak and matching scarf and gloves. A warming charm finished off the job as he swept out into the chilly snow-cloaked landscape.

He arrived at the edge of the "battlefield," taking a moment to watch the white balls soar through the air, some missing their victims by several feet, and others slamming into their intended target.

Instinct kicked in and Harry flipped his wand out, destroying a snowball headed his way with a muttered, "_Reducto._" The orb exploded into millions of harmless particles, dusting Harry over.

"Professor Hamilton!" a startled voice called out. Turning towards the speaker, he identified the young girl as a Third Year Ravenclaw. She currently held her fists pressed against her lips, her eyes plainly expressing her agitation and mortification at lobbing the snowball at her DADA instructor.

"I'm so sorry!" she began, a long string of apologies ready on her tongue.

Harry gently shushed her with a soft gesture as he approached the girl. "It's all right, Ms. Collins, it's all right. I'm not hurt, and I know that you were simply throwing them at the Gryffindor fortress without really aiming. I understand." He favored the distraught girl with a slight smile.

Turning to face his audience at large, he spoke. "I actually came down here with the intention of adding a lesson of some sort into this. Just listen for a moment," he said, interrupting a series of groans, "It's actually going to be fun. You will be throwing snowballs at your classmates. You'll also have a chance to throw snowballs at me. I promise. I do, however, want you all to try this out. You lot have separate forts already made. What I want you to do is to find some way to infiltrate your opponent's fortress with the least losses to your side; Gryffindors versus Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. Think of this as a practice run for the MAW tournament."

Harry grinned as his students, who originally were grumbling about it all, began their plotting. "A majority wins vote then. Who wants to continue the snowball fight as it had been before I came out?" About a quarter of the students raised their hands. "And those that want to try this new battle of tactics?" The remaining three-quarters raised their hands.

"The majority rules. You have five minutes to devise a strategy. I myself will be participating, doing my best to take out people on both sides. It will keep you on your toes. Build up your fortresses, stock up your ammunition. I will announce when time's up. Your five minutes begin now."

A flick of his wand and a ghostly blue timer was ticking away, the numbers a dark but glowing cerulean. The students huddled closely together, forging their plans. Meanwhile, Harry took this time to study the layout of the area and the way the fortresses were built. He could easily pick out areas that could, with little difficulty, be infiltrated in both fortresses. Scattered trees and snowdrifts provided excellent cover. He would utilize them to his advantage.

Harry was curious as to how well his students would be able to think up strategies in only a few minutes. This would be a good indicator of who was a quick thinker and who was not.

The five minutes passed, and Harry called out, "Time's up! Man your forts!"

The students scrambled to do just that, hiding behind the walls of packed snow.

"On my count! Ready! Set! Begin!" The professor dove to the ground as snowballs whizzed through the air where merely milliseconds ago his head was.

Casting a shield that ballooned around him, Harry picked himself up and sprinted towards one of the trees off to the side. He ducked behind it just as a white sphere flew past his left shoulder. Packing the snow with gloved hands, Harry peeked from behind the tree and shucked the snowball at the Gryffindor fort. A startled scream emanated from Fifth Year Ginny Weasley, who had taken the hit in the right shoulder on her back.

Harry hid once again, letting loose a small chuckle. It was liberating to not have to act like an adult for once. Packing another snowball, he took aim at the Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff base. Sixth Year Terry Boot managed a strangled, "Urk!" as he was nailed in the chest.

The war raged on, with many students getting pegged by Harry at one point or another. Both sides made several attempts at rushing at their opponent's fort, but none made it in. After twenty minutes of flinging balls of snow, Harry called for time.

The combatants gathered in the middle ground, damp from melted snow and sprinkled liberally with flakes of snow. Their cheeks were flushed from excitement and cold; their eyes glittered happily and there were smiles on every face.

"So, was it easy to get into the other's base?" There were a lot of shaking heads. Harry grinned slightly. "It's not easy. It's never easy to do something like that, particularly when you have to watch your back for rogue attackers." Here Harry grinned mischievously.

"You may have heard the Aurors' stories of how they stormed a camp of Voldemort's, but in reality, it takes a whole lot of information and careful planning. I didn't expect any of you to actually reach your goal of infiltrating the other camp. Your attempts, while rather simple and transparent in nature, were admirable. Well done."

The group as a whole beamed with the praise.

"Now you have an idea of what the tournament will be like. I hope that this experience will aid you and your future teammates to victory. Now, as it is getting dark, why don't we all head inside for dinner and a hot cup of cocoa?"

---

"All of the logistics have been worked out and gone over with a fine-toothed comb, my Lord. We have calculated and recalculated our plans, checked them over multiple times for errors or flaws of any sort. We foresee no problems with it. The Dementors have assured us that our plans are agreeable to their Lord."

The two Dementors gave a nod of their own.

"All we need now, my Lord, is a date."

The Death Eater backed away with a reverent bow, stepping neatly into the half circle of followers assembled.

Voldemort studied each of his Inner Circle members carefully, absent-mindedly stroking a snoozing Nagini.

"You have done well, my loyal Death Eaters," he praised sibilantly as his Inner Circle bowed as one.

"You are too kind, my Lord," they replied.

"I have need of your skills, each and every one of you. There are certain… items… that need retrieving; you must be exceptionally careful in handling these items. These items are: a cup, a locket, and a diadem. These belong to Hufflepuff, Slytherin, and Ravenclaw, respectively. I also would like you to retrieve a ring that belongs to the House of Gaunt. Fail this task, and I will be most displeased. Anyone who fails to retrieve these items safely will suffer a torturous, slow death."

There was nervous silence after Voldemort's announcement, which had been complemented with a severe glare directed at each individual.

"Do _not_ fail."

There was a harsh finality, a stark promise of pain, in the command that made his most trusted shiver with trepidation.

The red eyes focused on one particular Death Eater. "Lucius has already had a taste of what happens. Should you feel so inclined, ask him about his… experience."

The singled out Death Eater drew himself up haughtily while bowing at his Lord's acknowledgement.

"I will give you the locations of these items at a later date, as well as hints to what protects these items. Remember, Lord Voldemort can be very generous when pleased."

"We will not fail you, my Lord!" a Death Eater exclaimed, the feminine voice revealing her identity to be Bellatrix Lestrange.

The red eyes gleamed malevolently. "See that you don't."

---

The Dementor stood, waiting for him in the main hall of the Fortress of Dark.

"_What news do you bring?"_ asked Harry.

"_The Evil One has finalized his plans, my Liege,"_ the Dementor replied. _"We also heard something rather disturbing, my Liege."_

"_And what would that be?"_ Harry asked.

"_It seems that the Evil One has begun searching for powerful artifacts of importance to him. He mentioned a cup, a locket, a ring, and a diadem. These were mentioned with names: Hufflepuff, Slytherin, Gaunt, and Ravenclaw, respectively. He instructed his minions to take utmost care not to harm the items on pain of death. What do you make of this, my Liege?"_

Harry's mind whirled. Hufflepuff's Cup. Slytherin's Locket. Ravenclaw's Diadem. Gaunt's Ring?

_Horcruxes…_ The word, remembered from a past life, echoed in his psyche. _Horcruxes… Horcruxes… Items that each hold a shard of a splintered soul…_

_Like the diary in Second Year,_ Harry thought, realization crashing down upon him. _I've got to destroy the horcruxes in order to destroy him._

"_I think it's time Dumbledore knew where Harry Potter disappeared to."_

---

I hope you enjoyed it and please, review. Many thanks to those of you that reviewed; my gratitude knows no bounds for your input and support! I am still looking for a beta, just so you know. I have decided to incorporate information from HBP into my story, and will probably do the same for DH. As to Ron and Hermione's actions in the previous chapter, all I can say is: foolish Gryffindor bravery.

-Tal.

---

Completed: 9.8.2007

Edited: 9.8.2007

Re-edited: 1.8.09

---


	12. Chapter XI: Obscured Personality

Harry Potter characters do not belong to me but to J.K. Rowling.

---

In Terms of a Name

By Taliya

---

Chapter XI: Obscured Personality

---

_Like the diary in Second Year,_ Harry thought, realization crashing down upon him. _I've got to destroy the horcruxes in order to destroy him._

"_I think it's time Dumbledore knew where Harry Potter disappeared to."_

---

"_Remember, under no circumstances are you to squish yourself into that armoire. I want you to relax in the other realm, just keep an eye out for me. When I open the doors, I want you to let some of that smoke curl out before stepping out yourself. I will allow my students to take shots at you; they are learning how to cast the _Patronus_ Charm. I will protect you from the spell's effects while dampening my own affect on you. That way, the students will feel the coldness and fear that you usually invoke. All you have to do is pretend that the spell is affecting you; hide in the armoire when you back up away from it."_

"_I will do as you ask, my Liege; it is an honor to aid you."_

"_Thank you, dear friend. And also, rattle the armoire a bit every once in a while when the students begin entering."_

---

The Sixth Year Gryffindors tittered in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. They were anxious; today was the day that their professor said they could possibly test their skill against a Boggart Dementor. Their excitement was nearly palpable in the air.

An armoire stood in a corner of the room, behind the professor's desk. Every now and then it would convulse ominously. It was an elegant affair, crafted from cherry wood and carved with delicate floral patterns on its doors.

"Good day, class," Harry greeted as he walked in the doors, a rather large boulder-sized hunk of chocolate drifting in after him. He took in the anticipation that gleamed in his students' eyes and secretly smirked. "As you probably guessed," he began, gesturing to the shaking armoire, "I have found a Boggart lurking in the castle. I have told you that today is the day that you will test your skill. You would be pleased to know that I've decided to let you try."

There was a wild cheer that quickly quieted with a simple gesture from Harry. "If you want to try, come stand up in front of my desk. The rest of you, please move to the back of the classroom and sit in one of those desks."

The students eagerly did as they were told. Those unable to conjure a _Patronus_, including Neville, sat at the back of the room, watching attentively. A flick of Harry's wand, and the desks in the fore were neatly pushed backwards, but not far enough to crush the already seated students. Another jab and the armoire was deposited off to the side of the professor's desk.

"Line up, across the front so that your peers may watch you." The practicing students jostled each other into a line, with Harry at its head. Turning to face his students, Harry lectured, "I am going to stand at the front to ensure that the Boggart changes into and remains a Dementor. Each of you will then take turns casting the _Patronus_ Charm. Wand at the ready, Mr. Weasley."

Another flick and the armoire's doors banged open. Black haze billowed out before an emaciated hand grasped the side of the doorframe, followed by another on the opposite side of the frame. The air in the room chilled over, and a hoarse, rattling breath could be heard. The Dementor stepped fully out of the armoire, its faceless cloaked head turning this way and that.

Harry allowed his Metamorphmagus magic to relax a little, causing his skin to revert to its milky color. With a feigned strain in his voice, Harry instructed Ron to fire a _Patronus_.

The Dementor stood quietly, still breathing noisily, before deciding to go towards the redhead.

"_E-Ex-Expect-Expecto Pa-Pat-Patro—_" he stuttered, too cold and frightened to properly speak the incantation.

Harry's Dementor drifted ever closer. The DADA teacher finally intercepted and whispered, "_Expecto Patronum!_"

The orbs of light burst forth from his wand, and the Dementor shrieked and hastily retreated back into the armoire, which then slammed its doors shut. Harry had to keep his lips from twitching; the shriek that the Dementor gave was a laugh from being tickled by his _Patronus_.

Turning towards a pale Ron Weasley, Harry pat his friend on the shoulder and said, "Good try. It's not an easy feat to do. Sit down and have some chocolate." A conjured knife and serving spoon sliced off a chunk of chocolate and delivered the sweet to the shaking boy that now sat at a desk.

Ron accepted the sweet, popping the chocolate in his mouth. Color seemed to rush back into his face, returning to his normal complexion. The other students were efficiently served portions of chocolate before Hermione stepped forward.

Harry, face still pale and pinched, asked his friend, "Are you ready, Ms. Granger?"

"Yes, Professor," she replied crisply, eyes lit with determination.

Nodding, Harry stepped before her and once again opened the armoire. Again, the Dementor emerged from the wardrobe, breath rattling and cold.

Hermione stood, pallid, quivering, and frozen, her eyes seemingly focused on some distant, other-plane of existence even as she stared vacantly at the approaching Dementor.

"Ms. Granger! Concentrate!"

The hissed admonition snapped her out of her daze, and she visibly drew her courage around her like a cloak and cried, "_Ex-Expecto Patronum!_" Light swirled around the tip of her wand, creating a miniature cloud. This, in turn, shaped itself into the vague form of an otter, one that soon dissipated after formation.

"_Expecto Patronum!_" Harry murmured, once again producing the eerie spheres of light that wailed softly, their iridescent tails fluttering behind them.

Chocolate was once again handed out, and the rest of the line of practicing students gradually shortened as the class period wore on. Hermione was the only one out of the practicing students to obtain the telltale white wisps of the _Patronus_. While many of the students were disheartened, Harry did his best to cheer them up.

"I know how hard you lot tried. It's not easy to cast in the face of a Dementor. All of you that tried today, as well as all of you that practiced but were yet unable to obtain a _Patronus_, I congratulate you all for your hard work and effort."

A ripple of pride swept through the class. Harry gave them all a slight but gentle smile. "I must say I am… very pleased with you all."

The pleased smiles of his students were what made teaching worth it.

---

Harry headed to the Headmaster's Tower during his afternoon break, firm in his resolve to reveal his secret. A barely noticeable smile could be seen lurking about his lips; his Sixth Year Gryffindors had done better than he had anticipated. He hoped that his later class of Sixth Year Ravenclaws would do just as well.

Giving the silly candy password, "Cockroach Clusters," to the stone gargoyle, Harry watched as the statue leapt aside to reveal the winding staircase. He pondered how to present himself to the Headmaster as the stairs smoothly spiraled higher.

At length the winding staircase deposited him before the entrance to the Headmaster's office. Instead of attempting to knock, Harry simply waited until he heard the elderly man's voice rumble, "Enter, Professor Hamilton."

Harry opened the door and stepped inside, finally deciding not to pussyfoot about the issue, but to, simply put, be blunt. The office appeared the same as he had last seen it, which was before the beginning of the fall term. Dumbledore sat behind his claw-footed desk, his eyes twinkling genially. His phoenix familiar, Fawkes, perched on his stand, head tucked beneath a warm vermillion wing.

"To what do I owe this pleasure, Faustus?" queried the Headmaster.

Harry did not reply; rather, he responded by flicking his wand at the door and walls, quickly and efficiently setting up wards to keep eavesdroppers from listening in, including the portraits of past Headmasters and Headmistresses. For the portraits, Harry erected an obscuring ward so that they would not be able to witness what went on in the center of the office.

As he quickly worked through the wand motions, Dumbledore's consternation grew. "Faustus? Faustus what is the meaning of this?"

Done with his work and pleased with the subsequent inspection, Harry turned to face the alarmed elderly man, a blank expression on his face. Dumbledore had his hands politely settled on his desk, waiting attentively for an explanation. It was then that Harry noticed his blackened and shriveled right hand.

"Headmaster," Harry greeted quietly, eyes riveted to the cursed hand even as his brain ran through a list of curses that potentially caused that sort of outcome.

It clicked in his brain and Harry asked somewhat more harshly than he meant, "When did you come into contact with the _Tardus Agon_ Curse?"

Dumbledore glanced at his ruined hand, then back at his Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, who was studying him intently. "Over the Winter Holidays, I'm afraid," he answered, "Do not worry yourself, it is merely but a trifle—"

"A trifle!" snapped Harry, "It is more than a simple _trifle_, Headmaster! That _curse_ will creep up your arm, decaying as it goes, as well as inflicting immense amounts of pain. It also leaves you dead in a week's time. Which leads me to ask: why aren't you in the Hospital Wing right now?" He eyed the suddenly innocent-looking Headmaster.

"Would you believe me if I said that Madame Pomphrey let me out?"

A raised eyebrow was all the answer he got.

"I supposed that wouldn't have flown," Dumbledore grumbled, deflating. Catching the eyes of his employee, he said, "I know what this curse does, and its subsequent effects. I've already had it treated as best as possible—only by slowing the spread and dampening the pain—thereby extending the amount of time I have on this plane of existence. When the time comes, I'll be ready."

Harry looked away, jaw clenched tight enough to make his teeth squeak in protest. "Why?" he ground out, suppressing the sudden upwelling of emotion at the revelation of Dumbledore's impending death.

"Because it will be my time to go on the next great adventure, Faustus. I can only hope that by the time I leave, many things will have been worked out and resolved for the better."

Controlling and calming his roiling emotions, Harry looked at the aged man and nodded his resigned acceptance.

"Now," Dumbledore said briskly, resuming his cheerful façade, "What was the reason you sought me out?"

"Albus, do I have your oath that what I am about to say will not be repeated to any soul?" Harry asked with such intensity that it made the Headmaster hesitate.

"Faustus, what are you—"

"Do I have an oath, sir?" Harry pressed, refusing to be sidetracked again.

Dumbledore appraised the young man before him. "Fawkes," he called softly, awakening the bird, "Please come here. I have need of your abilities."

The firebird twittered softly as he fluttered to rest on the large claw-footed desk. Harry remained silent, observing their interaction.

The Headmaster fondly stroked the bird's head, eliciting pleased croons. "Can you tell me whether or not this man is worthy of my trust and silence, old friend?" asked Dumbledore.

Harry suddenly found himself on the receiving end of a piercing black gaze. He held himself still, maintaining steady eye contact with the phoenix. The bird made a flustered sound, and Harry realized that Fawkes could not penetrate his Dementor-spawned Occlumency barriers. With a thought, he dispelled enough of his barriers to allow the bird entry.

The firebird's eyes gazed deeply into him; Harry could feel the avian's presence gently sift through his memories, impressions, hopes, fears, and dreams. Fawkes seemed particularly intrigued by recollections of his life with the Dursleys.

_Yes, I've been hurt by them,_ Harry thought, somehow understanding that his mental narration could be heard by the avian. Images of the night he fled from Death Eaters on Privet Drive fluttered past his mind's eye. _They did so much to me, but they were still family—the only family I had left. It was my duty to protect them._ The replied mental twitter of commiseration echoed softly in his mind before Fawkes withdrew entirely.

The firebird cooed gently to the Headmaster, chirruping at the young man with contentedness. Stretching the brilliant red wings, the phoenix beat them twice, landing gracefully on Harry's shoulder and erupting in a burst of song that made Harry's resolve strengthen. Stroking the bird's cheek, Harry thought, _Thanks, Fawkes._

Albus leaned back into his chair, the pads of his fingers pressing against each other as he did so. "You have earned Fawkes' approval, and I trust my familiar. Very well. I swear on my magic to never tell a soul of this conversation."

Harry heaved a silent sigh of relief. "Albus, let me begin by saying that the name Faustus Hamilton is simply that: a name." At the Headmaster's puzzled expression, Harry continued, "In other words, Faustus Hamilton never existed."

Harry watched with hidden amusement as Albus blinked, no doubt due to just having had the proverbial rug pulled from beneath his feet. Then the aged man sighed deeply, his good hand going up to massage his left temple. His exceptional hearing was able to pick up the Headmaster's groused, "Why does it always happen to the DADA professor?"

Squashing his amusement, Harry waited for the Headmaster to collect himself. After a sufficient amount of time, Albus faced the young man. "So if Faustus Hamilton never existed, who are you?"

Harry released his Metamorphmagus abilities, save the ones hiding the telltale signs of his being not human and enhanced physical form. Black hair writhed and twisted as it resumed its untidy nature, glacier blue eyes darkened to a rich viridian. Harry's facial structure changed, and suddenly an older, thinner, more somber Harry Potter stared back at the astonished and gaping Headmaster Dumbledore.

Throwing the crooked grin at the elderly man who was currently doing a perfect imitation of fish, Harry said, "You know, if you keep that up, a chizpurfle might decide to settle in your mouth."

Harry's crooked grin morphed into a horrified frown as the esteemed Hogwarts Headmaster flopped over his desk in a dead faint.

Reflexes kicking in, Harry managed to catch the elderly man before his head crashed onto the polished wood. Gently, he straightened the Headmaster, carefully leaning him back on his chair.

_Now what?_ he thought to himself.

Fawkes twittered, landing on the Headmaster's desk and motioning that Harry should wake the older man up.

"Oh," Harry mumbled, feeling supremely idiotic for not thinking of that solution. Waving his hand at the Headmaster, Harry muttered, "_Ennervate_."

The Headmaster's eyes fluttered open, and he gazed wordlessly at Harry for a long while. Then, slowly, a joyful smile spread across his aged face.

"Harry," he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. "Harry, you've come at last!" Rising from his chair, he embraced the younger man. Stepping back with his hands on Harry's shoulders, Dumbledore gazed at the Boy-Who-Lived. "You've changed, Harry, my boy."

"Indeed, I have, Albus," Harry concurred, "Many things have happened after I was taken by Voldemort."

"Would it be asking too much to tell this old man?" the Headmaster asked. One of the things he had learned from Harry's "Faustus Hamilton" persona was that personal information was just that: personal. It did no good to him to try to pry, especially when it was not any of his business. Taking a well-educated guess that "Faustus'" personality was not all that different from Harry's, Albus settled and elected to allow Harry to tell him all that he needed.

"As you can probably tell, Azkaban wasn't a place I particularly thrived in," Harry began, making a weak joke out of his illusionary skinniness.

Dumbledore merely nodded, gesturing for Harry to continue.

"I won't go into details as to how I escaped, and don't argue with me about that Albus," Harry warned as the Headmaster made to object, "I have secrets of my own that I would prefer to be kept that way." There was a steely sort of glint in those green eyes that made Albus somewhat wary of the youth before him. He could not pinpoint why, but it set him on edge.

"Of course, Harry." Albus, being the great politician he was, gracefully admitted defeat and moved on to a different topic; one that he granted Harry the option of choosing.

After a short stretch of silence, Harry continued. "I have recently gained knowledge of Voldemort's plans concerning Hogwarts. My sources say that his plans are finalized, and that all that is needed is a date thus far. I believe he is debating between a Hogsmeade weekend and examination time. They are prime times to attack; the school's defenses will be scattered and stressed.

"He claims to have many different groups gathering to his cause, I cannot list for sure whom at the moment. That is all the information I have at the moment."

Dumbledore sat, gobsmacked at the amount of information Harry had just thrown his way. "I… I see."

Harry could tell by the way the Headmaster's eyes were not focused meant that he was mulling over the information presented. Debating whether or not to bring up the topic of horcruxes, Harry quickly decided to wait, given the Headmaster's glazed-over countenance. Giving himself a mental pat on the back for stumping the old man, Harry said quietly, "I'll take my leave then. Headmaster, Fawkes." Activating his Metamorphmagus abilities, Faustus Hamilton disabled his wards and swept out of the Headmaster's Office, leaving behind a quiet, contemplative Albus Dumbledore and a content, dozing Fawkes.

---

_Faustus is Harry. Faustus is Harry. Faustus is Harry. Faustus is Harry. Faustus is Harry…_

The thought repeated itself over and over in his mind like a broken Muggle record. Fawkes cooed in his sleep, feathers rustling as he shifted. Muffled by the walls of the castle, the old clock chimed four times, indicating the lateness of the afternoon.

Aged, blue eyes stared sightlessly at the paper-covered surface of his desk, fingers lightly gripped the armrests of the ancient Headmaster's chair as his body slowly slid further and further off the seat.

_Faustus is Harry. Faustus is Harry. Faustus is Harry. Faustus is Harry. Faustus is Harry…_

Images of Faustus, of Harry, breezed through his mind, Faustus sitting out under a tree by the lake, grading papers, Faustus ice skating over an enchanted frozen lit lake, Faustus darting to and fro, attempting to land a jinx or spell on his person before a spellbound DADA class.

And it was Harry Potter all along.

Those blue eyes blinked, and consciousness of his surroundings flooded back into his senses.

"Albus! Albus!"

The Headmaster blinked again, twisting his head towards the clamor of voices. His eyes rested upon the row of portraits that quieted under his gaze.

"Albus, we've been trying to get your attention for near an hour now!" remarked previous Headmaster Dilys Derwart. "What happened, Albus? We couldn't see you!"

"That young whippersnapper didn't do anything to you, did he?" Dexter Fortesque inquired.

The present Headmaster shook his head. "No, no harm came to my person. Faustus merely wanted to talk to me in private."

Armando Dippet sputtered, "But Albus, we wouldn't betray your trust like that!" A chorus of voices joined his.

Dumbledore held up a hand, and the portraits stilled. His blue eyes glittered with gratitude. "Thank you for your trust. I am touched beyond words, my friends. It was not my idea to exclude you from our conversation—au contraire, it seems that young Faustus Hamilton was more… suspicious than I had anticipated."

The portraits seemed to accept his explanation and subsided, which Albus was extremely grateful for. He was not in the mood to explaining to the deceased Headmasters and Headmistresses how his Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was the "mass murderer" Harry Potter masquerading in disguise.

Relaxing in the peaceful silence, the Headmaster allowed his mind to analyze the information Harry had given him.

_Azkaban has not been kind to him. He is even skinnier than I remember. And that glint in his eyes… it was harsh, cold. No doubt a residue from living in that hellish place. Could that look have also been a result of his time as a prisoner of Voldemort? I would not be surprised._

_Poor boy, to go through so much, and yet he isn't even an adult in the eyes of the law. Only sixteen years old, and he's gone through so much more than an average witch or wizard._

Albus stroked his beard absentmindedly, eyes once again unfocused and staring vacantly at his desktop.

_I failed to save you from Azkaban, Harry, and for that I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I'll help you, Harry, in any way I can. I promise._

---

That evening found the Gryffindor Quartet, as Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville were now known as, on the seventh floor heading for the Room of Requirement to relax and discuss their DADA classes. As they neared the entrance to the Room, a ghostly melody seemed to emanate from a delicately carved oak door opposite the portrait of Barnabas the Barmy.

The four cracked open the door and peered in. A great auditorium was revealed to them; and playing Ludwig van Beethoven's _Für Elise_ was their Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, swaying gently in time to the tune, his fingers pressing ivory and black keys.

The foursome was transfixed at the sight. It was a change from his normally stoic façade. There was a certain sense of peace that seemed to radiate from his being. It was an astonishing transformation for them.

They had no idea how long they stood gaping, but they were interrupted from their dazed staring when their professor spoke, "Are you going to hang about the doorway growing toadstools? Or are you going to step inside?" His voice echoed in the Room even as his fingers continued to find the correct keys.

Four sets of jaws clicked and they sheepishly shuffled into the Room. They quietly settled themselves in the seats on the first tier, gazing about the auditorium in wonder. Only Hermione recognized the resemblance to the world-renowned Isaac Stern Auditorium of Carnegie Hall. She whispered her excitement, only to meet blank stares.

_Für Elise_ ended, and the last few notes resonated warmly in the auditorium. Professor Hamilton turned from the piano to face his recently seated audience.

"Did you need me for something?" the professor inquired.

"That was absolutely beautiful, Professor," Hermione praised.

"It was brilliant," Neville commented, having never heard of anything so delicate and heavenly—Beethoven was, after all, a Muggle.

"What was that?" Ginny asked, curious.

"_Für Elise_, written by the German composer Ludwig van Beethoven in the early 1800s," was Hermione's prompt reply.

Harry chuckled at his friend's quick response. "Correct, Ms. Granger. Beethoven is one of what Muggles call the great classical composers. His works are well known throughout the Muggle world. Now, even though Muggle musical history is a very interesting subject for me, I highly doubt that you all came here for a lecture on it. Do you need my assistance in anything, or should I take my leave?"

Ginny bravely spoke, "Well, Professor, we were going to just talk about things. I, however, do enjoy listening to the music. I'd like to stay and listen, if you don't mind."

The other three nodded, albeit somewhat reluctantly from Ron.

Giving them a small smile, Harry turned back to the piano.

The quartet listened to the soothing music for a while, before beginning to talk in hushed voices. And all the while, Harry played away, relaxing in the soothing melodies from the piano.

---

Severus Snape glared at the rolls of parchment from his Fourth Year class that remained to be graded. The roll that he currently graded had been written in scrawny, blotted handwriting. The Potions Master had quickly covered the parchment with red ink. As he sat scowling at the roll and stewing over his predicament, the person he was most curious about entered the staff lounge.

Faustus Hamilton settled into a desk by the fire, a mug of tea in one hand and grading tools in the other. From his pocket he produced a shrunken stack of rolls. Snape discretely watched as the youthful Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor juggled with his mug, his inkwell, his quill, and his students' papers as he set them down on the desk surface. Arranging everything to his liking, his colleague quickly fell into his work, reading through the rolls of parchment and scribbling his own comments where he deemed necessary.

The Order of the Phoenix spy distractedly graded his papers. There was something odd about the young man, although it was a completely different "odd" than what he had felt with Quirinus Quirrel, and consequently Voldemort, six years ago. Severus had instantly noticed it when he first met the youth. That feeling had only intensified as time had gone by. Faustus Hamilton was different, too different when compared to those his age. Not much could be said about his character, either. Hamilton remained so tightlipped about almost everything that it was exceedingly difficult to gauge his personality. If Severus were to guess, he would bet his Galleons that Hamilton fell into the Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff categories. Of what he could tell, his coworker was fairly bookish and quiet; perhaps soft-spoken was more like it. The man stayed in his quarters in his spare time, so it was reasonable that Snape did not know much about him.

For twenty minutes the sounds of the fire crackling merrily away and the scratching of quills could be heard in the staff lounge.

"Are you feeling well, Severus? You look a tad peaky."

The Potions Master looked up to find Faustus' glacial blue eyes upon him. Biting back the sarcastic and somewhat demeaning retort that wanted to escape his lips, the older man replied dryly, "The same could be said of you."

The DADA professor snorted softly. "Touché."

The room was quiet once more, filled with a contemplative silence. Neither knew what the other was thinking.

"Faustus," Severus began, breaking the peacefulness, "Where did you learn to fight?"

The younger man's brow puckered in thought. "I learned most of it from several tutors before my parents died."

Snape, however, read between the lines. _I had to use what I learned to fend for myself._ "I see," he replied.

_So his duel with me only revealed the "proper" manner to fight; I do wonder how dirty he truly fights. Due to the fact that he knows how to grapple and aggressively attack, it's probably a safe bet to assume that he plays extremely dirty…_

_The Dark Lord will want to know about this—but I'm not going to inform him. I've been his pet potions slave for too long, receiving nothing in return. Albus will at least help me, however much I deny needing it, even if I don't believe I'm worth it. Now, how to make Hamilton reveal that he is not who he seems to be?_

---

Harry watched as his colleague fell into pensive silence once more. _I wonder what's on his mind,_ he thought as he returned his attention to grading the rolls of parchment. His mind flitted over using Legilimancy, but it was quickly discarded. Snape had been rather—courteous—to him, if his past behavior towards him counted for anything. However, Harry was here as a member of the faculty, not as a member of the student body; it was only natural and expected that he would be treated accordingly. Add the fact that Snape was both a Master Occlumens and Legilimens, and Harry was not about to start another rivalry with the man by sneaking a peek into his mind.

Coming across Ron's paper, Harry sighed as he read through the writings. Ron certainly had worked harder this year than in previous years. Talking with the other teachers proved that. Harry wondered if it was a direct result of his "disappearance." His brow furrowed slightly in worry. He certainly hoped it was not the case, although he could not say he was not proud of Ron for his efforts.

The two professors worked for another hour before Harry stretched his back, his work done. Exhaling softly, Harry began gathering his supplies and rolls. As his hand touched the doorknob, Severus' voice stopped him.

"Faustus."

Turning, Harry replied, "Yes, Severus?"

The Potions Master stared at him with unreadable eyes. "Why did you apply for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position?"

Harry's own icy blue eyes grew brittle. "Because I learned you can never be too young to learn how to defend yourself," he replied, a bitter tone to his voice, "Experience has taught me that much."

His fingers once again gripped the doorknob, but paused yet again when the Potions Master's voice cut through the air.

"You're too young to have such experiences." There was a biting overtone, and an almost sorrowful undertone in his voice, as if the older man was lamenting his own lost innocence and naïveté during Voldemort's first rise to power.

Harry's fingers released the knob, and he turned around to face the older man, a blank expression on his own countenance; his eyes, however, revealed trace amounts of sympathy. "Regardless of my age, I have the experience needed to survive. It is this knowledge that I intend to pass on to the students."

"And what experience is that?" asked Snape cynically. "You are barely half my age; what could you have possibly faced?"

"Many things," Harry responded evasively. He knew where this questioning lead, and did not appreciate being trapped in the proverbial corner.

"Such as?" Severus pressed.

"Nothing that concerns you," Harry snapped, suddenly irritated with his colleague. "Why all the bloody questions all of a sudden?"

"Call it curiosity," was the snide reply.

"Well, just remember, curiosity killed the cat," Harry responded sourly before turning the knob and exiting the staff lounge.

Severus stared at the door long after Harry had left, once again deep in thought.

---

Harry left the staff lounge, brows turned downward with his simmering anger. Taking careful, deep breaths, Harry willed himself to calm down. There was no need to cause all of the inhabitants of the castle to go insane due to his fit of anger.

_The nerve of that man!_ Harry fumed, setting a quick pace back to his quarters.

So caught up was he in his mental diatribe, he failed to take note of his surroundings.

"Oof!"

"Whoa!"

Wincing at his now sore rump, Harry groaned and pushed up onto his hands. A rumpled mop of red hair appeared from behind a clothed body, faithfully followed by a freckled face.

"Ow…"

Grunting as he pushed himself to his feet, Harry began dusting himself off as he spoke, "My apologies, Mr. Weasley, I wasn't watching where I was going."

Ron Weasley rubbed his back gingerly before noticing the proffered hand before his face. Gratefully taking the offered hand, Harry heaved the redhead up.

"It's all right, professor," Ron replied, dusting himself off as well. "It happens."

Harry managed a small grin. "About your detentions, Mr. Weasley," Harry began.

Ron winced.

"I think after the next one, I will be satisfied with you and Mr. Malfoy's dueling performances. There will be no more after this Sunday."

"Really?" Ron breathed, unable to believe that after week upon week of being inflicted with the Slytherin Prince's presence, he would finally be rid of him—at least on Sunday evenings.

Harry was pleased with their progress. Once they passed the stage where they would attempt to discretely hex the other, under Harry's tutelage they blossomed into an effective and efficient working team. Conjured, animated dummies fell before them, and their detentions of late ended with cheeks flushed with pride, rather than embarrassment.

Harry favored Ron with a rare, indulgent smile. "Yes, Mr. Weasley, after this Sunday, you and Mr. Malfoy are through with your detentions."

Ron let out a whoop of joy, thanked his professor profusely, and took off in the direction of Gryffindor Tower, intent on telling his friends the good news.

Harry chuckled quietly and continued his trek back to his quarters, feeling better than before.

---

A brown owl swooped down over the Head Table during breakfast, one of many that flooded the Great Hall daily. It alighted before a humming Headmaster Dumbledore, who was in the middle of buttering his toast. Holding out its leg, the owl gestured for the man to untie the missive.

After giving the owl a bit of toast, Dumbledore unrolled the parchment. It read:

_Headmaster,_

_I had planned on asking you if you knew anything about Voldemort's items of immense value, but after seeing your near-catatonic state, I decided to inquire about it at a later date. If you have the time, I would like to come to your office to discuss the items used, as well as where they would be located, and how they can be destroyed. Please reply with a time that is suitable for you._

_Sincerely,_

_Faustus Hamilton_

_Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts_

A corner of his lips quirked upwards underneath his snow-colored beard. He folded the note and tucked it into one of his many pockets in his robes. He would reply later in the day. Twisting his head to look down the Head Table, his cerulean eyes caught a flash of bright viridian, and each man offered a ghost of a smile to the other.

Voldemort, in the words of the Americans, was going _down_.

---

Professor Severus Snape was not having a good day. For his first class of the day he had third year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. Two of the Hufflepuffs had managed to not only botch their potions, but also blow up their cauldrons. Needless to say, Snape was _not_ happy.

He spent a good portion of his free period after that class cleaning viscous neon blue goop and sludgy yellow-brown liquid off of his ceiling, walls, and floor. The house elves helped as much as they could, but were unable to do too much. The strange concoctions that the two dunderheads created were rather… volatile when they came in contact with magic. Due to the fact that house elves themselves were magical creatures, if an unfortunate house elf came too near to one of the fouled up mixes, they fizzled, popped, and either ate away into the surface on which they were stuck, or exploded, creating an even bigger mess.

And so it happened that Harry walked through the Dungeons into the Potions classroom to find the feared Potions Master on all fours, scrubbing away at a rather revolting goop-sludge mixture with a Muggle bathtub-scrubbing brush.

Stifling a laugh and committing the scene to memory, Harry remarked, "Why Severus, I hadn't realized you enjoyed manual labor."

If looks could kill, the glare that Snape leveled at Harry would have killed him faster than a Basilisk's gaze.

---

I hope you enjoyed it and please, review. I'm sorry this was so slow in coming; I've been swamped with finals and graduate school applications. For the record, there will be no Harry pairings. Also, I made an error in my last chapter regarding a beta. I'm actually looking for someone to help with Briticisms. "Tardus agon" is Latin for "slow agony," which I thought was a fitting name for something Voldemort would have used on the Gaunt Ring. And out of curiosity, why do people say, "(descriptive word[s])!Harry" when describing something about the type of persona Harry dons? What's with the exclamation point?

-Tal.

---

Completed: 12.8.2007

Edited: 12.10.2007

Re-edited: 1.8.09

---


	13. Chapter XII: Duty to the Light

Harry Potter characters do not belong to me but to J.K. Rowling.

---

In Terms of a Name

By Taliya

---

Chapter XII: Duty to the Light

---

Stifling a laugh and committing the scene to memory, Harry remarked, "Why Severus, I hadn't realized you enjoyed manual labor."

If looks could kill, the glare that Snape leveled at Harry would have killed him faster than a Basilisk's gaze.

---

"What do you want, Hamilton?" the Potions Master growled from his position on the floor.

Harry leaned against the doorjamb, his arms crossed casually across his chest. Although his countenance was a study of blankness, his eyes danced with a hidden mirth that shone just enough for Severus to know that his younger colleague was finding amusement in his situation.

"I was curious as to whether or not you'd be interested in judging in a tournament with me."

The statement rang loudly in the space between the two men. Harry had planned on recruiting not only Snape, but McGonagall, Sprout, and Flitwick as well. He'd simply started with the Potions Master.

Snape eyed the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor with dark, intense eyes. "And what, pray tell, made you think that I'd be interested in something of that nature?"

Harry noted a sourness to his already biting tone, and stifled a wince and a smirk at the recollection of Professor Lockhart's Dueling Club in his Second Year.

"I've heard the tales of one Gilderoy Lockhart and his Dueling Club," Harry began, his expression revealing little of his mirth. "I don't intend to do anything like that. My idea is to have different teams of all Years creating battle tactics to wipe out the other team—to train them for the coming war. I would like to enlist your help in refereeing. Would you be interested?"

The Potions Master studied him beadily. "Who else will be judging?"

"I plan on asking Minerva, Pomona, and Filius to judge as well, in addition to myself. Albus will simply be put on ceremonial duty."

"I'll think about it," Snape replied with a lot less vitriol after a moment of deliberation.

"I appreciate it," Harry said has he eased himself off the doorframe. "I would like to have a small meeting to discuss this in more detail when the tournament draws near. I hope to see you there. Goodbye, Severus." Harry turned and swept out of the Slytherin's sight.

The Potions Master resumed his chore, commencing the grumbling about addlepated twits and obtuse dunderheads.

---

Harry hummed low enough for surrounding people to not hear him. Filius, Pomona, and Minerva had agreed to help judge in his tournament. Albus, the sly old codger, had somehow gotten wind of what role he was to play, and accepted the position before a word had come out of Harry's mouth. They had then discussed the specifics concerning the tournament, such as the rules and possible locations.

The former student was currently ensconced in a rather comfortable chair facing the aged Headmaster. Both were sipping tea.

"Albus," Harry began, "I have another piece of information to tell that requires your silence."

Dumbledore smiled indulgently and leaned back into his chair, eyes glittering. "I won't tell a soul, dear boy. Now, what did you wish to impart to me?" he asked after setting up silencing wards.

"What do you know of Horcruxes?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore's white brows furrowed in thought as he absently stroked his beard. "You are inquiring about Lord Voldemort's soul pieces, I believe?"

Harry nodded in confirmation.

"Well, I can tell you with absolute surety that one of them no longer exists," the Headmaster replied, holding up his charred, blackened hand.

The Defense professor exhaled. "So that's where you encountered that curse," he muttered. "What item did you destroy?"

Dumbledore reached into a side drawer of his desk and deposited on its surface a gold ring bearing a large gem. The gem was charred and black, and displayed a single vertical fracture down its center.

Dumbledore launched into a tale of the history of the ring. "This ring belonged to the head of the Gaunt family. The Gaunts descend from a long, pureblooded lineage, tracing all the way back to Salazar Slytherin himself. The Gaunts were a very proud, narrow-minded family who believed that they were superior to all non-magical people, as well as magical creatures. The name was once affiliated with affluence; however, as time passed their money dwindled. Yet, they did not curb their habit of spending. The last living descendent of Salazar Slytherin is Tom Marvolo Riddle, whom you know as Lord Voldemort."

Harry leaned back into his chair as he digested the new information. "I destroyed the diary in Second Year. That was a Horcrux as well."

Dumbledore nodded, "I believe he has a total of seven Horcruxes if one counts himself as one. So far we've destroyed two: the diary and the ring. Research into Tom's life revealed that he had a penchant for keeping souvenirs—items of value to the owner—he had been doing so before I encountered him at the orphanage he lived in.

"My guess is that he used items important to Hogwarts: it is a place that he most likely once considered home. I'm almost certain he was able to obtain items cherished by the founders themselves. To date, the only relics left are Gryffindor's sword, which you found, Slytherin's locket, Hufflepuff's cup, and Ravenclaw's diadem. The last item disappeared during Rowena's lifetime; there have been tales that it still exists, and I'm positive Tom sought it out."

"What would the last two be?" Harry asked, realizing the answer even as he spoke the question.

"One would most likely be his familiar, the snake Nagini. The other—and this is only a guess, mind—would be you, Harry."

Both instructors looked at each other, an aged weariness dully shining in their eyes.

"Maybe we should get Snape to poison the snake," Harry mumbled, deep in thought. An idea popped into his mind and the Defense professor nearly jumped in surprise. "We'll poison it," he breathed.

Albus shot Harry a puzzled, inquiring look. "I'm sorry? I didn't quite hear you, dear boy."

"My contacts," Harry explained, thinking of his Dementor subjects, "I can ask them to administer a poison to Nagini."

Dumbledore's brows furrowed once more. "Do you trust them that much?"

"I trust them with my life, Albus," Harry replied with conviction.

The older man studied Harry intently for a few moments, searching for any wavering of his confidence. He found none.

"Very well," the Headmaster acquiesced, "I leave the task in your capable hands. While you work on that situation, I will do what I can to find the remaining Horcruxes, as well as figuring out how to remove the soul shard within you, if that so happens to be the case."

"Thank you, Albus," Harry said sincerely as he swept out of the Headmaster's office.

---

_I'm just glad that blasted Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets is still here and not rotted all away. I never knew they took such a long time to decompose. Lucky for me, I guess—it's a good way to bribe Severus. Rare Basilisk parts—I know Potions Masters the world over would kill for this stuff. But, great heavens above! Why does it have to smell so _putrid_?_

The dead Basilisk lay in the same position as it had died after Harry had shoved a sword through the roof of its mouth, and consequently, its brain. The stench of the beginning to rot flesh made the Defense professor want to empty the contents of his stomach. So far, only the tissue in the mouth had begun to decompose. The skin was still intact.

Currently, the Azkaban escapee and ex-hero of the Wizarding world was pulling apart the dead animal with the help of a rather large sword, complete with a long handle for extra leverage. The sword was embedded into the side of the creature, and Harry, with his superhuman strength, was pushing the sword along, cleaving the dead beast in half along its length. Pieces of cold flesh and blood fell in chunks onto the flagstone.

The stench was horrendous.

"Snape had better make me that damned poison," Harry muttered as he pulled the sword along. "All this just to make sure he does it—I sure as hell can't make something like that."

After a few hours of slicing and collecting pieces of the Basilisk's skin, stomach, liver, kidney, spleen, heart, muscle tissue, and rib bones, Harry turned to the skull. One of the long upper fangs was broken and gone.

_That's the one that went into my arm._

Shaking himself out of his reverie, Harry conjured and donned corrosion-resistant dragon hide gloves and proceeded to carefully snap off the other upper fang and the two shorter but still dreadfully long lower fangs. Looking into the mouth, there were still rows upon rows of smaller sharp triangular teeth, all pointed down its throat—much like that of the constrictor family, such as pythons, boas, and anacondas.

_Good thing I didn't end up down in there._

Hefting his sword again, Harry rammed the weapon through both eye sockets and pushed against the broad side of the sword. The frontal braincase of the skull snapped off with a sickening crunch, and Harry lay down the sword. Scrambling atop the broken skull, he could see the newly exposed brains and, his targets, the venom glands. Conjuring up a large corrosion-resistant jar, he punctured a venom gland and directed the expelled venom into the jar using wandless magic. He repeated the action with the other venom gland. The jar now full, he screwed the cap on tight and spelled it with an unbreakable charm.

Stowing his goods in a bag made of the same material as his gloves, he shrunk the bag and tucked it away in his pocket. Now, it was time for a much-needed shower.

---

"What now, Hamilton?" the man snarled as he scrubbed away at the ceiling, teetering on a wobbly, rickety ladder and dodging falling gobs of soap and fouled-up potions.

_The Potions Master,_ Harry reflected, _is not in a good mood._

"I've come to ask for your assistance in a project of sorts of mine," Harry explained.

"Not interested," came the succinct reply.

"I'd like for you to brew me a poison," Harry carried on, blithely ignoring the other man's refusal. "Something highly illegal, completely untraceable, and potent enough to take out a man-eating snake."

Harry had noticed that although Snape had not once turned to look at him save when he entered the Potions classroom, the man had stopped scrubbing at the ceiling, listening, enticed.

Lowering the brush, Severus turned to lock gazes with Harry. "Should I produce this poison for you, what do I get in return?"

_Ah, ever the Slytherin,_ Harry chuckled mentally.

"Well, my gratitude, and possibly the Wizarding world's as well, for one. You would be aiding in the destruction of something Voldemort holds dear to him: his slithering companion, Nagini. Secondly, from me you'd get a large sample of Basilisk venom, as well as Basilisk parts, such as skin, teeth, several different organs, and bones." Harry tilted his head, an eyebrow arching upwards. "Is that not enough compensation for brewing a poison for me?"

The Defense professor watched as the gears turned inside the other man's head, weighing his options and studying the situation from all angles. He suddenly straightened and stared suspiciously at the younger man.

"How do you know about the snake's name?" he hissed softly. That piece of information was not well known by the public, much less someone not affiliated with either the Order or the Death Eaters.

Harry raised the sleeve of his left arm up to his elbow, exposing the clean, unmarred skin of his forearm. "I bear no mark, Severus," he said quietly, "and I was given this task by Albus."

The Potions Master snorted as he lowered himself down the ladder and swept behind his desk, planting his hands on the smooth surface. "And how do you intend on getting close enough to that blasted snake to administer this poison? The Dark Lord is rather protective of his _pet_." The last word was spat out with revulsion.

Harry smiled secretively. "I have my ways. And don't worry," he added, "You won't be anywhere near the snake when it dies, if it all goes to plan. There will be no evidence that will indicate your involvement."

The secretive tone that Faustus employed was unnerving to Severus. The Potions Master was once again hit with that sensation that there was so much more to this man—something lethal, dangerous about him that warned him to tread carefully.

"I'll make you this poison in exchange for the Basilisk venom and parts, and an honest answer from you."

Harry raised a brow. "And what would that answer be?"

"Who are you? No fancy words, I want a name. Faustus Hamilton is not your name, is it?" the Slytherin Head hissed, his inability to gain an answer to his curiosity over the duration of the school year irritating him more than words could express.

Harry pondered whether or not he could trust the man with this sort of information. _That man knows how valuable information such as this is. I don't know for sure which side he supports. His role as a spy is to blend in, and he does a damn good job of it._

"Before I give you my answer, I want to ask a question that you must truthfully answer," Harry responded.

Snape sneered. "And why is that?"

"Because this information will determine whether or not I die sometime in the near future," was the simple, seemingly resigned response.

The Potions Master blinked, not expecting such an explanation. Drawing himself up to his full, regal height, Severus replied, "And why should I tell you my affiliations? Do you not think that simply being here, I am aligned with Albus?"

Harry shook his head. "Albus told me you are, essentially, a triple agent. Your job is to blend in with both sides as a spy for the other. All things considered, it's almost necessary that I ask my question."

Snape glowered before answering. "If I were to choose a side, it would be the winning side. And right now, it seems as if the Dark Lord is winning."

"I see. Well, what if hypothetically Harry Potter was still alive and in hiding, training his magic to become stronger than Albus Dumbledore's? Which side would you pick then?" asked the Defense teacher.

Snape hesitated. "If that were so, then perhaps the Light stands a chance," he revealed grudgingly. "I'd be inclined to choose Albus' side."

Harry's eyes slid shut. "I see."

The Potions Master maintained his stare on the DADA professor. "So? Are you going to answer my question?" he snapped testily.

Icy blue locked with obsidian. "I'm sorry," Harry said softly as he shook his head, "The information you want could potentially jeopardize your position as a spy, and I won't risk your life for a tidbit of trivial information." Looking back up at the other man, he continued. "You are correct in that this is not my true name. But that is all I can give you. Maybe, when the war is over and if both you and I are still alive, I'll tell you then."

The Potions Master regarded the younger professor sourly. "I'll hold you to it," he conceded after thinking about the offer.

Harry's lips twitched with a weak smile. "So, are you still willing to brew me that poison?"

---

"There will be eight teams participating in this tournament, and there will be two battles between two teams every weekend. Each battle will be two hours long. You will need to plan how to move about and tend to your teammates, all the while taking out your opponents.

"This will be a no fatalities competition; it will be understood that anyone who throws a curse with the intention of spilling blood will be expelled immediately. I've arranged for the Sorting Hat to randomly select the teams. Each team will consist of roughly thirty-two students from all Houses.

"The battles will consist of teams on separate ends of a sectioned-off area of Hogwarts. Each team will make their way through the hallways to get to their opponents' base while picking off your opposition. The first one to reach their goal will be declared the winners of that round."

The entire MAW class, as well as assorted professors, had gathered in the Great Hall that Friday evening for Professor Hamilton's announcement. Excited whispers broke out as the instructor paused for a breath.

"Here are the team rosters. Everyone please take one sheet; there should be enough for all." A flick of his wand and several bound "books" of parchment appeared and adhered themselves to the walls of the Great Hall in strategic locations. The students huddled around the lists, tearing off the top piece of parchment, each of which detailed the personages comprising each team. There was a mix of disgruntled groans and enthusiastic cheers as peers discovered with whom they would be working with.

Harry smiled softly to himself as he watched his former schoolmates. This was the promise of a unified school, one that did not frown upon any one house. This was the promise of a better future, with people of all different types and backgrounds working together.

He clapped his hands twice for their divided attention. "Please, I have a little more to say before we go."

The student body settled down.

"As you can see, all of the teams have roughly the same percentages of people from different Houses. The victors and secondary winners of this tournament will receive prizes; ones that reward not only the team, but also the House they hail from. The individual winners of this competition will receive fifty House points each. The runners up will receive twenty-five House points each.

"I suppose that I have given you all enough to think about for tonight. Have a good evening." With a last small, crooked smile, nodded his head at the chattering students and stepped off the temporarily conjured stage, stealthily avoiding his fellow professors by losing himself in the crowds of students.

---

The Gryffindor Quartet had congregated in a quiet circle near the roaring fireplace on the floor. It had been several days since Professor Hamilton's announcement, and the enthusiastic chatter of their peers had calmed down since.

"Why was I teamed up with Malfoy of all people?" bemoaned Ron for the thousandth time since the lists were posted.

Ginny sighed in exasperation, Neville shook his head, and Hermione gave a quiet scoff. "Oh, do hush up, Ron, it was a randomized listing. Professor Hamilton assured it." She tapped a quill on her own straight parchment of lists, on which her team had been neatly highlighted.

Ron's parchment was hardly as crisp as Hermione's. It was wrinkled and creased in places, and Draco Malfoy's name had been vigorously scribbled on until nothing but a ragged hole in said parchment remained of his name's existence in the lists.

"You realize that if Malfoy's on your team, you're going to have to work with him. Although, seeing the state of your parchment..." Ginny eyed Ron's parchment dubiously, "I don't think you two will work it out."

Hermione and Neville had been fortuitously teamed up, and the girl's mind had already begun pondering what skills her friend could bring to help her team obtain victory. Ginny and Ron were both on separate teams; while Ron complained about having Malfoy on his team, he was silently thankful that Luna Lovegood was also going to be there.

Ron, however much he outwardly objected, could not help but be grudgingly and silently grateful that Malfoy was assigned with him. The detentions they had served with Professor Hamilton had honed their skills and had given them a better understanding of how the other person reacted and thought in a battle situation. His analytical mind was already beginning to assimilate their individual strengths and weaknesses to better create a winning strategy. Looking at the rest of his teammates, a small grin crept across the redhead's lips. With practice, they could win.

---

"Wormtail."

A mousy-looking man bowed and scraped as he approached the other man ensconced in a chair situated before a lit fireplace.

"Y-yes, milord?" asked the prostrate servant.

"Have you confirmed those that side with me?" asked the Dark Lord as he stroked the head of his reptilian companion.

From within his ragged black robes, Wormtail produced a roll of parchment. Unrolling it, he read, "A d-dozen of the giants have agreed to j-join our cause, as well as a score of v-vampires and werewolves each. The D-Dementors, of course, have an agreement with you. The goblins wish to m-maintain neutrality. The others… th-they side against you."

Glowing red eyes narrowed maliciously. "Well then. They will learn what it means to defy Lord Voldemort." The Dark Lord chuckled insidiously. "Wormtail, we will strike the first day of examinations at Hogwarts, mid afternoon. They will be made examples of to the whole of Great Britain and to the world."

"Y-yes, my lord," the shivering Peter Pettigrew responded, bowing.

"Inform the Dementors of the date, and be gone."

"Yes, m-milord."

---

"_Yes, my faithful? You called?"_ asked Harry as he materialized in the Fortress of Dark.

"_The Evil One has set a strike date. He intends for Hogwarts to fall the first day of their end-of-term examinations during the afternoon. He has a few giants, vampires, and werewolves on his side. The goblins have proclaimed neutrality, and anybody else has sided with his opposition,"_ a Dementor dutifully reported.

"_Thank you. You have been most helpful to me."_ Harry smiled softly at his subject.

The Dementor bowed and sunk into its own shadow, Slipping back to where it had been before.

_Perhaps I should visit Dad in the Potter vaults to let him know of the impending events. I would like to talk to him anyhow. I might also need to visit the Black vault and the other one as well. I also need to do some "practice" on some spell work that might be helpful later on._

Course of action decided, Harry Slipped back into his quarters at Hogwarts.

---

Classes continued as normal at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The days grew longer as winter's hold loosened and spring pushed its way into the Scottish highlands, bringing the rains.

The beginning of the MAW Tournament drew closer as May approached. The students of each team worked hard, training to become the best team in the competition. The extracurricular classes that Harry had set up had been abandoned, and in their stead the two hours were split up between different teams for coaching. These training sessions included tactics, healing, and fighting techniques. Harry taught each team the same skills but they varied depending on who was assigned what within each team. Each team had already created a variety of specialties for each of their members: strategists, charms specialists, potions specialists, offensive specialists, defensive specialists, and healers, to name a few.

"All right, that's good enough for tonight," Harry announced after working with one of the teams for an hour. The students quietly chattered amongst themselves as they cleaned up the practice area. Harry himself waited until all of the students had left the room before snuffing the lights and heading to his quarters.

After freshening up, Harry settled into his study area, ordering tea and biscuits for five. As a house elf popped out of his quarters, a knock sounded at his door.

_Right on time,_ Harry thought as he stood to open the door for his guests. Professors Dumbledore, Snape, McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout filed in, settling themselves in the various pieces of furniture in his living room.

"Thank you all for coming," Harry welcomed after each had been served tea. "I have asked all of you here to help come up with different places for the tournament to take place. I have here a map of Hogwarts, courtesy of Albus, with sketched in areas of where I think the 'battles' should be." Here the DADA professor pointed at the large crosshatched areas on the map that ringed the centrally located moving stairways. Pointing to the shaded corners of the castle, he explained, "These classrooms are to be the bases from which the each team will operate from. Since there are eight teams, the tournament will take place over two floors: the second and third floors, with the battling teams doing their best to infiltrate their opponents' base. I suppose it is like the game 'Capture the Flag'."

His allusion to the Muggle game was met with blank stares. Scratching the back of his head, Harry continued. "Anyway, I would like each of you to be stationed at opposite corridors of the team bases. Once the team in your site begins to move away, you may follow them as long as you do not help them. You all are to be the judges for this competition; I will be the final authority on the results. Albus will be the one to award the prizes. Any questions?"

"Hamilton, how are you going to determine the final result when you can only see a portion of the tournament at any given time? Even we don't expect to see everything," Snape asked, trying to find loopholes in Harry's set of rules.

The MAW instructor snorted softly. "I have enlisted the help of the house elves. They will be my silent, invisible eyes and ears for this tournament. That way, I will know each and every little thing that happens if I asked."

"A rather well thought out plan, I must say," remarked Dumbledore genially. "I do look forwards to handing out the awards."

"Faustus, where will the other students and faculty be while the tournament is taking place?" asked Pomona.

The Ravenclaw Head of House answered. "The Great Hall. Faustus and I will charm a wall so that they can see parts of the action. It will be both entertaining as well as enlightening to the students to see how other people react in these types of situations."

The young professor's lips twitched with a frown. "Merlin, they are all so young…"

Minerva patted his shoulder. "We know, Faustus. But nonetheless, what you are doing is to help them survive the coming war against You-Know-Who."

Harry gave his judges and master of ceremonies a tired smile. Finishing their tea, they bid each other a good evening and filed out of Harry's quarters, leaving him alone to think about the war and its approaching dangers.

---

_"How are you this day, Master?"_ purred the panther as Harry's fingers gently scratched behind its ear.

_"Tiring, stressful, but well worth it to see the students succeed,"_ answered Harry as he leaned on the dragon's hind flank. The four winged beasts were crowded around their Lord, basking in his presence. It had been a while since he had visited them and the Lands of Eternal Night, and had immediately apologized for his recent lack of visitations.

_"It does not matter,"_ the stallion had replied,_ "We are simply pleased that you are here now."_ The other three creatures had murmured their agreement, and the matter was closed.

Harry sighed contentedly as he watched several Dementors roam about the valley in a leisurely manner. While there was no outward evidence to the contrary, Harry could feel the contentment that radiated off of their black-cloaked figures.

_"In the near future I will call on all of you to aid me in destroying Lord Voldemort,"_ Harry abruptly announced to the four creatures. _"I need you all to be ready."_

_"We live to serve, my Liege,"_ the wolf replied instantly, standing up to stretch its wings. _"Perhaps in the intervening time, we will spar against one another to perfect our skills_._"_

_"A wonderful idea,"_ the stallion agreed as it also stood. _"But a warm up is needed."_

Without further ado, the two creatures began a slow trot down the length of the valley, gradually increasing their pace until they were sprinting. Midway through the panther had removed itself from Harry's pleasurable fingers to finish the warm up with them. The dragon was content to remain as Harry's backrest even though the youth had offered to sit up.

Both dragon and master watched as the three beasts squared off against each other in a three-way battle. As the land thundered with their respective elements and war cries, Harry sighed in satisfaction and snuggled up further against the black reptilian behind him.

---

The entire student body, as well as the faculty, was gathered in the Great Hall. There was a palpable tension in the air. Tonight was the beginning of the Martial Arts and Weaponry Tournament. While there were to be no weapons allowed aside from wands, the students were allowed to use what they learned in their respective martial arts classes to fend off and disable their opponents. Now, they were waiting on the last and probably most important missing person, Professor Hamilton.

The tables had been rearranged so that there were nine sections, one for each team and one for students that were not participating in the competition.

A hush descended over the Great Hall as the DADA professor entered, his navy silk robes whispering as he strode to the Head Table. Clutched in his hand was the ratty Sorting Hat. Settling himself into his usual chair, he placed the Hat on the High Table and waited for Dumbledore to begin.

The aged man stood from his seat. "Welcome," he intoned, raising his arms with palms facing the enchanted ceiling. "Welcome to the commencement of the Martial Arts and Weaponry Tournament!"

Thunderous cheers flooded the room.

Albus waited for the noise to die down before continuing. "Tonight is the beginning of the first tournament of its kind to be held at Hogwarts, one which I hope will one day be a favorite pastime of our future students."

Again the students cheered, excitement electrifying the mood of the Great Hall.

"Without further ado, I present to you the founder of this tournament, Professor Faustus Hamilton." As the students applauded loudly, Dumbledore sat down while Harry stood up.

"Over the course of the next few weeks, eight teams will battle for first place. While I have gone over the rules with you, it does not hurt to go over them again.

"There will be no spell work used with the intention of harming someone. The use of additional weaponry and the Unforgivables are prohibited on pain of disqualification. The worst you can do to your opponent is to stun them. Your objective as a team is to reach a glowing sphere planted in the base of your opponent. The first team to touch the sphere is declared the winner of that game. The winners of the first round will then compete with each other; elimination continues until there is one last team. That team will then be declared the winner.

"The winners of this competition will receive fifty House points per person, while the runners up will receive twenty-five House points per person. I've also decided to add a plaque with the winning team members' names, to be added to the trophy collection here at Hogwarts.

"With that out of the way, allow me to introduce to you the judges of this event: Professor Filius Flitwick; Professor Minerva McGonagall; Professor Pomona Sprout; and Professor Severus Snape. I, myself, will fill the role as the Grand Adjudicator.

"The first teams to go will be picked by the Sorting Hat. Those not competing will be able to watch the action here via a charmed wall. If you please, Professor, Sorting Hat?" Harry asked.

Filius stood and together, the two professors charmed the wall behind the High Table to become a screen from which they could see the empty hallways.

The Sorting Hat opened the rip that served as its mouth and announced, "Team Chimera and Team Vipertooth!"

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The professors had already left for their respective "stations." The two picked teams stood before Harry as he explained where they were to start and where they were to head towards.

"Vipertooth, your base is in the southwestern corner of the second floor. Chimera, yours will be on the northwest corner of the third floor. You are not allowed to knock anyone off the moving staircases. That is grounds for instant disqualification. Clear?"

The group of students before him chorused their affirmative reply.

"Good. The door to your base must be closed in order to begin the round. The sphere in your base will turn green when to let you know you can start moving out. Good luck, you lot. Now, get to your starting stations."

The students quickly dispersed, stampeding through the doors of the Great Hall. Harry himself made his way across the Great Hall in a leisurely manner, Slipping the moment he was out of sight from the occupants of the Great Hall. Remaining in the shadows, he would be able to move about instantaneously without being seen.

The people that remained in the Great Hall watched the enchanted wall with rapt attention as the scene switched back and forth to reveal the two teams scurrying down the corridors to their bases.

Team Vipertooth passed a scowling Potions Master in the southern second floor corridor, while Team Chimera passed a watchful Transfigurations Mistress in the western third floor corridor. The students sequestered themselves in their appointed classrooms, staring in awe at the softly glowing white orb of light that gently bobbed midair in the center of the classroom. After the last student had entered, the door to the classroom was closed and all eyes turned to the luminescent sphere.

After nearly a minute of anxious anticipation, the sphere finally changed from the soft white to a gentle sea foam green.

The tournament had begun.

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I hope you enjoyed it and please, review. I am indeed back after a super long hiatus. My most sincere apologies! Grad school is kicking my ass—I have to propose my research thesis this semester as well as work on a project for a competition, so updates will still be sluggish. But anyhow, I'm sure you've noticed that I have gone back and re-edited the chapters. I've tweaked a few minor things, such as the use of Veritaserum in Harry's trial and increasing Faustus' age to twenty-two. I think that's about it, aside from some spelling and grammar issues. Things are beginning to pick up!

-Tal.

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Completed: 1.22.09

Edited: 1.22.09

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	14. Author's Note

To my adored readers,

I know that I have not updated this story in a very long time. Graduate school is taking its toll on me, and I honestly do not have the time to finish it now, much less add new chapters. With regards to the story line, I seem to have hit a rather thick, wide roadblock.

It is with much regret that I am putting this story up for adoption. I have a partial next chapter written, but from there, I don't know where this story will lead. It is my hope and desire that someone of great imagination and writing caliber take up the story and bring it to an end—one that I am unable to accomplish.

I thank you all sincerely from the bottom of my heart for all of your continual support; it has been utterly gratifying and humbling to know that you all enjoy what I have produced. In the interim, I will be occasionally spouting off one shots, as I cannot afford to begin another massive multi-chapter story.

Thank you all so very much!

Sincerely and with much love,

Tal.

9.16.09


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